The Night of the Royal Wedding
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: His Majesty King Stepanko of Pterovnia is getting married, and among the invited guests are none other than James West and Artemus Gordon. But when the blushing bride is kidnapped just hours before the ceremony, the distraught monarch calls upon Our Heroes to help find his beloved before it's too late. Sequel to Kiss of Death and Diabolical Dowager.
1. Teaser

_Thanks, as so often, go to California Gal for her sharp-eyed beta-reading._

_A vocabulary of the invented Pterovnian language appears on my profile page._

**Teaser **

Artie pulled the well-thumbed engraved invitation from its envelope once more and looked it over.

_His Royal Majesty  
>Stepanko Milushko Simvjelko Zerildetko<br>by the Grace of God King of Pterovnia  
>Defender of the Faith<br>etc, etc  
>requests the Presence of<br>James T West  
>and<br>Artemus Gordon  
>Honorary Knights of the Realm<br>to Witness the Marriage of His Majesty and  
>the Baroness Mireje Ilianje Gorashche<br>in the Capitol City of Ljuko  
>August the Fourteenth<br>the Year of Our Lord  
>Eighteen Hundred Seventy…<em>

He sighed and broke off reading there. "Ah, James my boy, if only there were a loophole, some compelling reason that would let us off the hook from having to be there in person!" He glanced at his partner hopefully.

Jim West only shook his head. "No loopholes, Artie," he said. "No wiggle room. Not even a begging off on the grounds that Americans, much less Secret Service agents, cannot accept foreign titles, since these knighthoods are merely honorary."

"I know."

"And besides, you saw for yourself how hard Col Richmond campaigned for us to stay home and do our jobs. But once the president weighed in…"

"I know," Artie repeated and dropped his voice into a growl, imitating the old general. "This is a golden opportunity, gentlemen, for the pair of you to go and represent these United States officially at the wedding of that moon-struck young idiot…"

Jim grinned. "You realize it's probably not a good idea to repeat the entire quote in our present circumstances."

Artie took a swift look around the passenger car of this Pterovnian train, but saw no one paying a bit of attention to the two Americans. "At any rate," Artie continued, "once the president decided we were going to the wedding, our fates were sealed." He glanced at the invitation again, then slipped it back into its envelope and put it away. "Or my fate, that is. Surely His Majesty won't hold anything against _you_. You're not the one who…"

"Artie, it was three years ago. And when you arranged for him to be kissed, slapped, and thrown into that underground pool, it wasn't because you wanted to. You were doing what was necessary to release him from that ridiculous love philter! In other words, you were…"

"…doing my job, I know." He stared out the windows for a bit, watching the forests slip past as hints of craggy mountains rose up beyond the trees. "Very scenic, isn't it?" he said. "I wonder will there be any windows in my dungeon cell for me to enjoy the view?"

Jim sighed. "We're here for the wedding. You don't really think King Stepanko would have gone to all this trouble just to lure you onto Pterovnian soil to throw you into prison, do you?"

"I don't know, Jim. That's the problem. I know a flurry of telegrams went zipping between San Francisco and the embassy in Washington over this business after the young king returned to his hotel. And I know the Pterovnian ambassador, who previously had been quite friendly towards us, became positively frosty for, well, months! Even…" Artie sighed heavily. "…even Anushche stopped writing us for a time, and you know that before that, every time we got into Washington, there would be four or five letters from her waiting for us."

"Letters that would be delivered by diplomatic pouch to the embassy itself, then forwarded to the Treasury Department. It's entirely possible that she was writing us, but her letters were being intercepted by her father's secretary or even by the ambassador himself and not sent on to us."

Artie nodded. "Well, that's true. Maybe the ambassador didn't explain to his daughter how we — or at least I — had become _persona non grata_."

"Stop worrying," said Jim. "We'll know for sure shortly. Besides, if the king were really out to get you, would he have bestowed these honorary knighthoods on us?"

"Well, stranger things have happened," said Artie, looking out the window again. A thought hit him, and he swiveled to look Jim in the face. "What if he insists on carrying out the knighting ceremony? That involves the king holding a sword and tapping the knight on the shoulders. It wouldn't take much for him to…" and he drew his thumb across his throat.

"Artie…"

"Well? Am I wrong?"

The rhythm of the train changed, slowing. The conductor came down the aisle, calling out to the passengers in Pterovnian before pausing by the Americans to inform them in heavily accented English that they were now pulling into Ljuko.

"_Kedurshte djo,"_ said Artie, thanking the man politely. Soon they saw the streets of an Old World city coming into view, and soon after that the train pulled into an elegant, sparklingly new station house and came to a halt with a massive rush of steam.

"Here we are," said Jim, rising to his feet.

Artie was slower to stand up and lagged behind the rest of the passengers. As he glanced out the windows while awaiting their turn to disembark, he suddenly clutched at his partner's arm. "Jim!" he hissed.

Outside the train, in perfect formation, was a score of brightly uniformed cavalry officers, resplendent with banners.

"They're here for me!" Artie insisted.

Even Jim was a bit taken aback by the sight. But then he leaned over to a window for a closer look and pointed. "Look at the young fellow leading them. He's familiar."

Artie took a look as well and gaped. "What? But he's only a kid!"

"He was a kid three years ago. Now he's, what, sixteen? And soon to be the brother-in-law to the king." Jim smiled and gave Artie a light punch on the shoulder. "Andreshko Gorashko always liked us. C'mon."

"Always liked _you_, you mean," Artie grumbled, but followed Jim's lead.

As the two men stepped off the train, the young officer beamed at them and said, "Mr West! Mr Gordon! On behalf of His Majesty King Stepanko, welcome to Pterovnia!" He called out a command, and his men instantly dipped the banners in salute to the Americans. "We shall be your escort to the palace," the boyish officer added. He gave a second command and two of his men rode forward leading saddled horses.

"What about our, ah, luggage?" asked Artie.

"It is being taken care of." The officer waved toward a wagon standing by the train's baggage car.

"Ah. Well then, what about…?"

Jim leaned close and whispered, "Quit stalling, Artie," then mounted up on the prancing black stallion with which he'd been provided. Glumly Artie climbed into the saddle of the chestnut gelding.

"It's good to see you again, let's see, _Captain _Gorashko, isn't it?" said Jim.

The young man grinned and tried for a moment, though unsuccessfully, to catch a glimpse of the insignia on his own shoulder. "_Dasda _— yes! His Majesty conferred that rank upon me very recently." With a glance at his troop of cavalrymen, he added softly, "To tell you the truth, I still feel more like a boy playing at soldiers than I do a real officer and leader of men. And so far, of course, my sole duty has been to lead the honor guards escorting wedding guests up from the train to the palace." He turned now and called out an order, and his men divided into two groups, half of them riding slightly ahead of the captain and the Americans, the rest slightly behind. Up the street of the old city the group rode, the brave banners fluttering in the breeze.

Normally it would be Artie making small talk on the ride, but as his continued worries had quelled his tongue, Jim set out to take up the slack. "You look a good bit older than the last time we met, Captain," he offered.

"And much more masculine too, no doubt," said the young fellow with a certain amount of chagrin. "Do you know, one of the first things I did as soon as I was out from under _Mushche's _— Mother's, I mean — thumb was to cut off all those long ringlets. She was…" He trailed off and shook his head.

"Well, you look fine. Fine," said Artie cordially, making an effort to shake off his gloom. "And how is your sister, the blushing bride?"

The answer was slow in coming. "Nervous," the bride's brother said at last. "Very nervous." Abruptly he pointed at a massive stone structure and called out, "Oh, but see there! That is the Old Palace, which now houses the National Museum. Impressive, is it not?"

"Very," Artie agreed.

"Houses more than that, I believe," Jim added.

Andreshko blinked. "Ah… excuse me?"

"The dungeons below the museum are still in use, aren't they? And I understand that one of the prisoners held there is your mother's old ally Captain Koloshko."

The young officer winced. "_Dasda_, that is true. But please, may we not speak of that? _Mushche _used and betrayed the captain, who then turned on her and helped the king instead."

"And for that assistance against her, Koloshko's death sentence for treason against King Stepanko — they could never prove he was in on the plot to assassinate the king's father — was commuted to life in prison. That's right, isn't it?" said Artie.

"Yes, yes, but I beg you, let us not speak of it! It is a painful past, particularly to me, considering that my own mother…" His voice trailed away and for a long moment he only stared off into the distance.

The agents exchanged a glance. It was indeed a painful past for that young man, for the bomb by which his mother had assassinated King Stepanko's father had been unwittingly delivered before the old king by Andreshko's father. And he too had died in the blast.

"Well," said the young captain at last. "It is in fact all in the past. The mercy with which His Majesty regarded Capt Koloshko was not extended towards _Mushche _as well. All that she got, she richly deserved. But this is not a day for melancholy reflections. This is a day for joy! Tomorrow is His Majesty's wedding day, the reason for your visit here to Pterovnia." He turned a bright, if less than convincing, smile towards the king's guests, then pointed. "Ah, but look! There to our left, that is the Arch of Triumph erected by King Zimenko to celebrate his victory over Napoleon."

Again the agents exchanged glances. "Pterovnia defeated Napoleon?" asked Jim. And Artie added, "I don't recall that Napoleon ever came within a hundred miles of Pterovnia."

The captain grinned. "Very true, Mr Gordon, very true. Our king had bested the conqueror of Europe in a game of chess. By mail. Oh, and look there!" He prattled on, naming landmark after landmark on the long and twisting route. "Ah," he said at last, "but this is only the Old Town. I must take you out to see the new buildings on the edge of Ljuko before you leave for home. You must see our modern hospital and the University that are being built!"

Perking up at the young fellow's phrase "before you leave for home," Artie smiled and commented, "Sounds like His Majesty is quite the progressive monarch."

Now the captain laughed outright. "_Dasda _— as long as he does everything our cousin Anje tells him to do. It is she who insists on higher education and modern medicine. She would, I think, make quite a queen, that Anje!"

A moment later he realized what he had just said and blanched. Glancing around at the honor guard, he said, "Please, do not tell the king of my words. He is a good ruler. It is just that Anje has such excellent ideas and…"

Jim smiled reassuringly. "We won't say a thing."

"I don't even remember what we were talking about," Artie added.

"_Kedurshte djozí,"_ the young officer thanked them and fell silent for the rest of their ride.

"Here we are," he said at last as they turned a corner to see the high, crenelated towers of the castle.

If the Old Palace in the heart of the city had been massive and solid, this new one was instead a soaring fairy-tale building, all airy spires and fanciful adornments. Bright gilding bedecked a multitude of statuary at every level; flags flew, windows shimmered. Leaning toward Jim, Artie murmured, "I wouldn't be surprised to see Cinderella come tripping down the stairs to climb into a pumpkin-carriage, leaving her glass slipper behind!"

On they rode toward the cloud-capped towers of the gorgeous palace. Shortly they passed over an obligatory moat by means of a stone bridge, then in through the gate of the obligatory thick stone wall. No sooner were they all inside the courtyard than the obligatory portcullis rang down behind them, closing off the gate. And at that sound Artie whirled about and stared at the heavy iron grating cutting them off from the outside world as instantly every worried thought he'd had ever since he and Jim had received the wedding invitation came screaming back to him once more.

At the same moment outside the gate, a boy took off running.

Captain Andreshko called out an order and the honor guard came to a halt. The young officer dismounted and the guests followed suit, albeit in Artie's case at least, very reluctantly. Andreshko drew off his shako and led the way up the wide marble stairs.

Opulence met their eyes as they entered. Brilliant chandeliers and tall stained glass windows illumined the interior. The young captain strode ahead of them, leading them past exquisite paintings and elegant statues, urns and tapestries, coats of arms and suits of armor. "Your suite is this way," he informed them, leading them up a grand curving staircase. "Your luggage should be along soon if it has not arrived already. I'm sure you will want freshen up from your journey, and in half an hour, a new escort will come to accompany you to the throne room for your audience with the king. Here we are."

Andreshko produced a key and opened a set of tall doors for them, then handed the key over to Mr West. "_Atuchejnte djozí _for now, my friends. I will see you again shortly."

"_Atuchejnte djo,"_ Artie responded, adding the English version, "Farewell," as the captain nodded and strode off.

They looked around the room — more opulence — and saw that indeed, their luggage had preceded them. Jim threw open his trunk and began to unpack.

"Our audience with the king," Artie murmured as he too opened his baggage. "Who says we _want _an audience with the king?"

"The king does, of course. And what the king wants…"

"…the king gets, yeah." Artie set about filling some of the bureau drawers with his clothes.

Jim took up an armload of clothing and began opening doors, searching for a closet. "Well, here's the bathroom," he said. "Two tubs, no waiting."

"Tub! Oh, I'm all for that!" exclaimed Artie. "If only we could just sit and soak for a couple of hours."

Jim grinned. "I hear you. But we only have half an hour till our new escort shows up, so we'd better hurry."

…

Deep in the heart of the city, a breathless boy knocked on a door, then hissed out to the man who answered it, "The Americans are here and within the New Palace. Tell the Boss."

…

One half hour later on the dot, a knock came at the door. Artie, freshly bathed and now attired in his best black suit with the cream-colored silk vest and tie, opened the door.

A small dapper figure beamed up at him. "Ah, _bonjour, mes amis!" _cried the man._ "Bienvenue_ — welcome!" He bestowed a hospitable kiss on each cheek of Artemus Gordon, then did the same for James West. "I have been sent," he said, "to escort you gentlemen to see His Majesty." He drew off his pince-nez glasses and polished them quickly, then settled them back on his nose and with a sweep of his arm, set off through the corridors leading the way back down to the main floor. "Your voyage was a good one, I trust, _mes amis?" _he asked.

"Yes, it was," Jim answered. "It's good to see you again, Dr Rodin."

"You're looking, ah, well," Artie added, trying to get his mind off what might be coming by engaging in a bit of chitchat.

"Ah, _oui_, very spry for a man who once was dead, _n'est-ce pas?" _said Dr Rodin.

"Well, I wasn't going to bring _that _up," Artie muttered to Jim.

Their footsteps echoed in the grand hallway as Dr Rodin pattered along ahead of them. The sunlight spilled in through the stained-glass windows, casting a multitude of colors throughout the corridor.

"Here we are," said Dr Rodin. He stepped up to an ornately carved door and spoke briefly to the two guards flanking the doorway. One of the guards rapped softly on a small portal in the door, then whispered to the guard from the other side who had answered the knock.

The great door was pulled open then and the two guards from outside fell in behind Dr Rodin and the Americans as they entered the throne room beyond.

There was no doubt about it: those who had built and decorated this palace had plainly intended every aspect of the building to take away the breath of all who entered, and in that they had eminently succeeded. There was so much to look at — more statuary, more urns, more paintings, more tapestries, more artworks on plinths and more on the walls, more shimmering gilding, more gorgeous windows, more, more, _more _— that it was hard to stop the eyes from sliding away from the one person in the room to whom all attention ought to be paid: the king himself.

An array of curtains in deep crimson formed a backdrop to the dais where in regal splendor upon a richly decorated throne of red gold sat His Royal Majesty Stepanko Milushko Simvjelko Zerildetko, by the Grace of God King of Pterovnia, Defender of the Faith, etc, etc.

"He's smiling," Artie whispered to Jim. "That's a good sign, isn't it?"

The king _was _smiling, it was true. The two Americans with their escort drew closer to the throne, passing by a double dozen guards along the way. The guards were clad in brightly colored medieval garb, each man standing at rigid attention with a tall lance in his hand.

The king's smile grew brighter and brighter.

At length Dr Rodin led his charges to the foot of the dais upon which stood the throne. Rodin polished his glasses once again, then swept into a low bow before the monarch and in excellent Pterovnian announced the king's guests. He then stepped back and quietly exited the throne room by a side door.

Jim shot Artie a glance as they both bowed cordially to the king. Catching his partner's meaning, Artie intoned, "_Zartechko dujo_," and Jim repeated the Pterovnia phrase for "Your Majesty" only half a second after him.

King Stepanko, resplendent in his royal robes, crown upon his head, scepter and orb in his hands, arose from his throne and smiled down brightly at his guests. "Ah, Mr West and Mr Gordon! How I have looked forward to our meeting again — yes, even longed for this day!" His smile broadened into a grin. "I wonder if you can imagine why." The smile vanished in an instant as he called out an order to his guards, then, lest the import of his words be lost on his guests, he repeated the order in English:

"Guards, seize these men! To the dungeons with them!"

And the guards aimed their lances at the king's guests, moving forward to encircle them.


	2. Act One, Part One

**Act One, Part One**

The two agents looked around as the guards armed with lances closed in on them. The pair shared a brief, almost telepathic glance. An exchange of nods followed, then Jim pelted off in one direction and Artie in another.

Four of the guards followed Artie; the rest swarmed after Jim as he sprinted toward the main door. Abruptly he pivoted and took in the positions of all his opponents in a swift glance.

The closest lancer charged at him. Jim sidestepped and brought one arm up and the other down in a scissor motion, snapping the man's lance in two. The startled guard stumbled onward propelled by his own momentum, only to have Jim slip right past him. He hammered the guard solidly on the back, sending him to the floor.

Two more guards came at Jim. He caught the first man's lance and used it to pull its wielder off balance, then slung him sideways into the next man.

Three down. The rest of the jolly lancers eyed Jim cautiously as they continued to press forward.

Meanwhile, Artie had raced for the side door through which Dr Rodin had disappeared. One of the guards outpaced him, cutting him off. With that man ahead of him and the other three behind, Artie sprang instead toward the wall. He snatched down a portrait and held it before him, turning it into a shield.

"That's my great-grandfather King Kazimirko!" cried the king, stamping a royal foot.

"Yeah, well, unless you think he'd look better as a pincushion, I suggest you call off your guards!" Artie hollered back.

The king hesitated, looking first at Artie with the painting, then at Jim with — oh, with all but three of the guards on his side of the room now lying scattered on the floor all around him. Unfortunately for Jim, two of those remaining guards had grabbed him and were holding his arms firmly, while the third man, after wiping a trail of blood from his chin with the back of his hand, hefted a lance and grinned at Jim. He leveled the heavy spear at Jim's heart, then glanced at his sovereign.

"Well," the king chuckled, "we seem to have a stand-off."

"Do we?" Jim replied.

At the same moment, almost as if they had rehearsed it, Jim and Artie sprang into further action. Jim used the two men holding his arms as supports as he kicked up and over into a somersault, breaking their grip. And Artie plucked a small white orb from his pocket and flung it to the floor.

The orb shattered, spilling forth a cloud of vermilion smoke, blinding the four guards nearest to Artie. At the same moment, Jim grabbed the guard who had been holding him by his left arm and whirled him toward the one who had been holding him by his right. _Crash!_

As that pair of guards fell like tenpins, one of Artie's group of four, all of them sweeping their arms before them as they groped their way through the murky cloud, found the portrait. "Aha!" that man cried and tossed the painting aside to seize what the canvas concealed behind it.

Which was a plinth. "What?"

Jim plowed into the final upright guard of his group and they fell to the floor, rolling and punching.

From an inside pocket of a fine black jacket, a hand plucked out yet another orb, this one larger than the first and with a string dangling from it. His other hand yanked out the string, then Artie launched the orb into a soaring arc.

A high-pitched screech filled the air as the orb sailed toward the main door. It hit, and a new cloud of smoke churned forth, this one saffron and accompanied by a fusillade of loud, sparkling explosions as if from a Roman candle.

"Jim!" a voice hissed. The voice seemed to emanate from every point in the cloud-filled room at once. Knowing that Artie had mastered the art of ventriloquism, Jim didn't bother with figuring out from whence the voice had come. He just slugged his man, then charged toward Artie's original destination from back when they'd both started running.

Meanwhile, the final four guards continued stumbling about through the indoor fog as they tried to rush to protect their king. Jim met up with a couple of them on his way across the room, and the guards then met up with the floor.

Jim raced on toward the small side door and shortly found his partner kneeling before it.

"It's locked, Jim."

"It won't be for long." Jim pulled out his lock pick. After a few moment's work, the latch clicked open. The two men slipped through and closed the door behind them. Jim used the pick to lock it back again, then Artie jammed a pencil stub into the keyhole to block it up.

"That ought to keep them busy for a while," Artie remarked. He glanced both ways along the corridor. "Ah… which way?"

"This one," said Jim. He took off to the left and Artie followed.


	3. Act One, Part Two

**Act One, Part Two**

Corridor led on to corridor in the unfamiliar labyrinth of the palace. The men heard no sounds of pursuit from behind them, but that was small comfort when any turning might well disclose a whole troop of guards ahead of them. They needed to find a way out of here, and fast. But where?

And then, as they were rushing along a section of corridor, a door to their left opened and a woman emerged. Instantly Jim swept her up and bore her back through the door, one of his hands covering her mouth. Artie was right on Jim's heels and closed the door behind them all. He listened for a moment and, satisfied that no one was around, Artie turned to the startled woman and addressed her in Pterovnian.

"My profoundest apologies, dear lady. We mean you no harm. We only wish to know the nearest way out of the… Cat!"

Even the unflappable James West was surprised by that one. "Why are you hollering about a cat, Artie?"

"No, Jim. Look! This is Catalina! You remember: Mireje and Andreshko's governess, _Señora _Reyes."

Jim took a good look at the woman he was holding, then released her. "_Lo siento, señora_," he apologized.

"_Señor _West, _Señor _Gordon! What are you doing?"

"We're, um…" Artie rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "We're here for the royal wedding."

"Ah, _sí_, of course _that_. But running about the palace looking for a way out?"

"It's a long story," said Jim.

"Very long," Artie agreed. "But you'll help us, won't you, Cat? For old time's sake?" He smiled winsomely at the little widow.

She chuckled. "You mean in memory of our previous acquaintance, and how you thoroughly confused me back then?"

"Well… yes…" Just as King Stepanko had come under the influence of a love philter three years ago and had fancied he'd fallen in love with Mireje at first sight, so Artie had fallen instantly for Catalina Reyes after drinking a certain glass of wine. Both men had been delivered from the effects of the philter — but it was the manner in which Artie had broken the king's spell that had the agents in danger of the dungeon even now.

Artie explained all this to the woman as succinctly as possible. Once he was done, she frowned but nodded. "I see. You wish to escape the king's wrath, and wish me to help you."

"Exactly."

She thought a bit longer, then nodded again. "_Sí_, I will help you. But you must do precisely what I tell you, without question. Agreed?"

Both men agreed.

"Then come." She opened the door and peered outside into the empty corridor, then set forth leading the way.

…

Corridor again led on to corridor. After walking in silence for a while, the _señora _inquired conversationally, "You are aware that I have remarried?"

"Yes," said Artie, "Anushche — that is, the king's cousin _Zernkje _Anje — mentioned that in one of her letters to us."

Catalina smiled in delight. "She told you of my wedding?"

"Indeed she did! Now, your new husband — he's the king's majordomo, isn't that right?"

Now she blushed a bit and patted her hair. "_Sí_, Ruvenko Duzko. The Pterovnians now call me _Zerinje _Duzche — and my husband pronounces my Christian name as Katalinje!"

Jim frowned. "_Zerinje?"_

"Meaning 'Missis,' yes," Artie supplied.

"And Anushche's title is…"

"_Zernkje."_

"Meaning 'Lady.' "

"Right, Jim."

He shook his head. "I'm glad I've got you along to translate for me, Artie. In Spanish I'd be fine, but in Pterovnian…!"

"I still have some trouble myself," Catalina admitted. "Oh, but you must meet my husband before you leave, _Señor _Gordon! I think you will approve."

"Ah?"

"_¡Sí_, s_í!_ Ruvenko is an older gentleman with a touch of gray at the temples and impressive mustachios. He reminds me," and as she said this, she smiled at Artie, her eyes twinkling, "very much of a certain man I once knew, a man whose name at the time was Don Pablo Martínez."

"He… he, ah…" For a moment, Artie found himself struck speechless, for Don Pablo Martínez had been his disguise that memorable night of the infernal love philter!

Seeing a need for a change of subject, Jim broke in with, "Is it much farther, _señora?"_

"Not much farther, no, _Señor _West," she replied. Turning again to Artemus, she remarked, "I, ah, have heard that you also have married. That the woman from your past, she who turned down your proposal of marriage, returned and reconsidered her answer."

A beatific smile lit Artie's face. "Oh yes, indeed she did!"

The _señora_ glanced around. "But she is not here for the wedding?"

"Ah. No. No, my Lily is an actress and she was going to be on a tour just now, so she's back home in the States." He didn't bother to go into the additional details of how he had implored Lily to remain in America for fear the king would not only seek to arrest Artie and Jim, but might well trump up some sort of charges against Artie's beloved wife to boot.

"Ah," said Catalina. "That is a pity. I should have liked to meet her."

They walked on in silence again for a while until the woman stopped before a door and said, "_Aquí_. Here we are."

Artie frowned. "Are you sure?"

And Jim added, "This doesn't look like an exit, _señora_. It looks like a door to any of the rooms of the palace."

"Nevertheless, _señores_, I assure you that once you pass through this door, you will need to fear the king's wrath no longer." She drew open the door and led the way inside.

It was an opulent room; that was no surprise. It was also a room filled with music, with food and drink, and with people. In particular, there were many people here whom Jim and Artie recognized: Captain Andreshko, Dr Rodin, _Zernkje _Anje.

Oh, and incidentally standing quite close to the door that Catalina was now closing firmly behind West and Gordon, standing in fact close enough to the agents to be able to touch them, was the regally robed figure of King Stepanko.

His Majesty stared at the pair for a stunned second, then grinned magnificently as he leaned still closer and whispered to them, "Surprise!"


	4. Act One, Part Three

**Act One, Part Three**

Jim and Artie took a swift but much more thorough look around the room now, and this time they spotted the guards. There were plenty of them scattered about the room, but dressed unobtrusively in evening clothes rather than the fanciful garb of the previous set of guards. The new group also bore no weapons, or at least no visible ones. And probably the most interesting detail about these guards, at least in the opinions of _Messieurs _West and Gordon, was the fact that not one of these guards was paying the least bit of attention to the most recent arrivals.

Artie shot a doomed glance toward Catalina. She smiled feebly in return, then sidled away.

"She turned us in!" Artie muttered to Jim. "How could she do that? I thought she was our friend! I broke my rule for her: I trusted a woman!"

Jim didn't get a chance to respond, for now the king spread out his arms and called merrily, first in Pterovnian, then in English, "My friends, our guests of honor have arrived! Let us greet them!" And at that point, a great cry of "Surprise!" rang out as the other guests smiled broadly and tossed streamers and confetti into the air, while from the ceiling dozens of brightly colored balloons rained down.

Jim turned to look at Artie. "Guests of honor?"

"Surprise party?" Artie said, returning the look.

Once the great hullabaloo had died down to a low roar, Jim and Artie found themselves the objects of an impromptu receiving line as nearly all the guests they had never met before lined up to greet them personally. The king stood proudly by, introducing them to such luminaries as "Count Filifko Beshko, an old friend from my childhood" and "_Zernkje _Modje, my Great-aunt on my mother's side." And the guests, most of whom spoke at least a passable version of English, twittered on at them delightedly, enchanted to meet the American lawmen who had foiled the evil plan against their king and brought to justice those who had assassinated his dearly beloved late father.

At long last — long _long_ last — the receiving line was over. The king then led his guests of honor to the bar for drinks. "We succeeded, did we not?" he beamed at them. "You were indeed caught completely by surprise, true?"

"Oh, we were surprised all right," Artie said, accepting a very welcome snifter of brandy.

"Then the arrest in the throne room was all a sham," Jim said.

The king chuckled and waved that away with a hand. "_Dasda _— yes. Had you not escaped, my lancers would have led you here to the party. Slowly, of course, to give me time to precede you."

"And your lancers were aware that they weren't supposed to hurt us?" said Jim.

"Yes," Artie added, "some of your men who fought Jim here certainly put a lot of realism into their act!"

The king chuckled some more and took a sip of his brandy. "Oh, you were perfectly safe the entire time, my friends! Which is more than I can say for some of my lancers, I might add. Some of them, my dear Mr West, I had to send off to the infirmary my cousin Anje prevailed upon me to open."

Jim only eyed Stepanko sternly.

"And you, Mr Gordon," the king went on. "_Two _smoke bombs? Do you always carry such a concealed arsenal on your person, even to an audience with a king?"

"Always," Jim assured him.

"Oh yes," Artie added airily. "After all, one never knows!" He smiled winsomely — and perhaps a touch sarcastically.

The king looked at each of his guests of honor sharply, as if becoming aware that something was not being said and wondering just what that might be. "Well," he said at length, "if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I must have a word with my majordomo." He nodded to them cordially, then set off toward a man with graying hair and an impressive mustache, the man with whom Catalina was conversing. That couple plainly fell silent as the king approached, and the woman curtsied and stepped back.

"Her husband," Artie observed, noting how closely the man matched both the description of him Catalina had given them and the way Don Pablo Martínez had looked. But then Artie turned away and shook his head. "You know, Jim, I still can't believe it. Cat tricked us!"

"What, by leading us to our own surprise party?"

"Well…"

"And remember what she said just before she opened the door," Jim added.

"Yeah, yeah. She assured us that once we passed within it, we would no longer need to fear the king's wrath. It's just… I don't know, Jim. I'm still not sure we should particularly trust His Majesty."

Jim took a sip of his own drink. "You worry too much, Artie. He pulled a practical joke on us, a pretty sharp one. And now he's giving us a party. I don't think he's really mad at us."

"Yeah? You're sure?"

"No. The arrest could be the reality and this party the trick. But for now, let's enjoy ourselves. I see a few lovely ladies around who might just like to get better acquainted with at least one guest of honor." He caught the eye of one such lovely lady and gave her a smile.

Artie, knowing better than to fish for a date now that he was a married man — knowing that somehow, Lily _would_ find out, and then he'd be in worse trouble than he'd thought he'd been with the king — glanced around the room. "You know, Jim, I don't see Mireje. That's curious. You'd expect the prospective bride to be here."

"True. But here comes…"

Jim didn't get to finish his sentence. He was drowned out by an enthusiastic cry of "_Djenkozí!"_ as a vision of loveliness came wafting up, smiling gladly. She embraced Jim and kissed his cheek, then did the same for Artie. "How good to see you both!" she exclaimed.

"Anushche!" said Artie fondly, returning the kiss.

"Or are we supposed to call you Lady Anje now?" Jim added.

"Technically yes, it is in fact _Zernkje _Anje now, but for such dear friends as you — not to mention that you are two of my _djenkozí_ — to you of course I am still and ever your little Anushche."

"Oh, not so little, not anymore," said Artie. "You have manifestly grown up, _droshinje muje_." He leaned closer and whispered, "I do still get to call you my sweet little girl, don't I?"

She laughed and even blushed a bit. "As long as I may still call you _droshtafko!" _she returned.

Artie shot Jim a look, wondering if he'd heard that. There weren't a great many Pterovnian words Jim had mastered, but he had never forgotten how Anushche had enjoyed calling Artie "sweet old man" — and had even thrown the term around a few times himself, the rat.

If Jim had heard though, he gave no sign of it. He only commented, "You've become quite the patroness of modern medicine and higher education, so we hear."

Her eyebrows rose. "Ah? Who told you that?"

"Oh, a little bird…" said Artie.

Jim chuckled. "Yes, named Captain Andreshko."

She smiled. "Oh, _kjushko _Dreshko, of course."

"_Kjushko?" _Jim asked.

"Cousin," Artie translated as the young lovely went on with, "Yes, Dreshko tells me often how proud he is of my accomplishments, but I assure you, for the most part what has happened is that I have merely made sensible suggestions to the king, and he has chosen to act upon them. That is all."

"I see," said Jim.

And Artie, with a swift glance around the room, asked suddenly, "So where is he? When do we get to meet him?"

Anushche glanced around as well, puzzled. "Meet him? Meet whom?"

"Your fiancé. Jenko, wasn't it? Is he here?"

"Jenko Chelzumortko, yes. He will be here soon. As a lieutenant in His Majesty's Royal Guards, he has certain, ah, duties."

"But so do we, correct?" said Artie. "As your _djenkozí_ — your advisors, mentors, protectors — we're expected to advise you when it comes to your choice of a fiancé, aren't we?"

Anushche looked so taken aback that Jim gave Artie a nudge. "Don't worry, Anushche, Artie and I aren't really planning to pass judgment on your young man. Artie's just dying of curiosity to meet him, that's all."

"Right, right. After all, I'm sure Dr Rodin has already approved of the young fellow," Artie assured her.

"And most importantly, _you _approve of him," said Jim. "As long as you're happy, we're happy, _drosh_… ah…"

"_Droshinje_."

"Right."

"After all," Artie went on, "not every Pterovnian girl follows the old custom of having a man to watch out for her interests. While you wound up having three _djenkozí_ by accident, your cousin Mireje never had a _djenko_ at all."

"Mm," she replied. "In fact, _droshtafko_, that is no longer true. It was her mother that frowned on the tradition, but now that, well…" A cloud passed over her eyes. "Now that her mother is, ah, no longer a consideration, Mireje has chosen a _djenko_."

"Oh, she has?"

"Who?"

Anushche grinned. "Oh, but who else? Who else is closer to her and most interested in assuring her happiness?"

Artie hesitated and was about to guess the king himself when Jim said confidently, "Of course. Her brother."

"_Dasda_. Yes, Dreshko was thrilled to be chosen, more so by that I think than at being named a captain in the Royal Caval… ry…"

Her voice trailed off as another's rose in anger. All chatter stopped, even the music of the chamber quartet ceased, as all eyes turned to watch the king venting his wrath at his majordomo. Stiffly the man bowed to his sovereign, then strode from the room. The king scowled darkly and tossed off some of his brandy, then growled out an order. Instantly the first violinist gave the beat and the musicians began to play once more. And as soon as the king's attention was elsewhere, the governess, white-faced, rushed from the room as well.

"What's all that about?" Artie asked Anushche. But instead of giving him an answer, she excused herself, leaving the Americans on their own.

"Well, what _was_ that about?" Artie said to Jim, then noticed that Jim's eyes were riveted on something beyond Artie's shoulder. Casually, Artie took a sip of his drink, half-turning to do so. Ah, there was Anje just beyond a potted plant, whispering urgently to Andreshko.

"Mm!" said Artie. "Why, look at that painting there, James my boy! Isn't that a Gainsborough? You don't mind if I take a closer look, do you? I'll be right back." Suddenly a connoisseur of the arts, Artie wandered closer to the whispering pair and began to study the painting hanging on the wall near them.

By the time Artie returned, Jim was involved in a tête-à-tête with a lovely young lady of the court. Artie smiled and nodded as he wandered on past them and headed over to the buffet to help himself to the gourmet delights available to all.

Jim wrapped up his conversation shortly and joined him.

"Ah, there you are, James my boy! And what time is your rendezvous with the charming young lady, hmm?"

Jim just smiled back and started filling his own plate. "Well?" he said.

"Well, indeed!" Artie reported. "The two of them were speaking together in Spanish when I got within hearing range. And as soon as they saw me lingering, they switched over to Russian."

"You speak Russian," said Jim.

"_Da, moy tovarishch_, a fact of which they were apparently unaware."

"And?"

"And…" Artie glanced toward an empty table and they both took their refreshments over to it. Once they sat down, Artie continued, "It seems that Mireje is in the habit of not putting in an appearance at parties or even state functions until quite late."

"What, fashionably late?"

Artie rolled his eyes. "Not according to the king's definition of fashion. He sent Ruvenko Duzko, Catalina's husband, off to fetch her."

"But not before giving him a good chewing out for not making sure she was already here, I take it. But what about the _señora? _Why did she sneak out?"

Artie shook his head. "The cousins didn't say anything about that. I can only presume Cat thought she might be of some help, considering she was Mireje's governess." He took a bite of a beautiful but mysterious Pterovnian hors d'oeuvre, closed his eyes in rapture, and turned to his partner. "Oh, Jim, you have _got _to try one of these! Ah, Jim?"

Jim didn't answer; his attention was riveted on the door by which they had entered. Artie swiveled to have a look for himself.

There was Cat, just closing the door. Before her was her husband the majordomo accompanying a handsome young lieutenant of the king's personal guard — and between the two men swayed the sylph-like figure of…

"That's Mireje?" exclaimed Artie, aghast.

"The past three years haven't been very kind to her, I think," Jim commented.

"That's an understatement!"

It wasn't that Dreshko's sister was no longer beautiful; she was still as lovely as the two agents remembered her. It was the way that she stumbled along leaning on her two attendants, the way she giggled and grinned at everyone around her, waving and hiccupping, nearly losing her balance. Add to that the way she blinked owlishly at the king as he stormed over to her. "Oh, hi, honey!" she exclaimed all too loudly as she went to fling her arms around him.

And missed.

Artie winced as the king recoiled from her, while Ruvenko Duzko and his handsome young companion endeavored to keep the king's bride from falling on her pretty face. "Oh my stars and garters, the girl is drunk as a skunk!" Artie muttered to Jim.

With the exception of the members of the chamber quartet, who gamely played on, silence fell over the guests as they watched the scene play out between the king and his betrothed. With a giggle of "Whoopsie! Oh, Lieutenant Jenko, do be a dear and fetch me a glass of something bubbly," Mireje very nearly toppled over again. The king, seething so furiously he practically had steam pouring out his ears, said something to Mireje through his gritted teeth. Precisely what he said could not be heard by the crowd at large, but his bride-to-be only laughed and said, "Oh, Panko honey, don't be an ol' duddy-fuddy… er, fuffy-duffy… oh, a stick in the mud! I came to the party, didn't I?" Again she giggled, taking the glass that her attendant brought to her. "I jus' started my party a lil earlier than yours, that's all." She came nigh to dropping the glass as she lifted it to her lips.

Then there was a shriek, for His Majesty King Stepanko dashed the glass from her hand. "Take her back to her rooms!" he growled. "And you!" He rounded on Lieutenant Jenko and chewed him out thoroughly for the condition in which Baroness Mireje had arrived at the party.

The young officer stood stiffly at attention and took the abuse. At length the king ended with, "Now get out of my sight before I decide to relieve you of this duty and assign you to guard the royal pig sty!" He flung a hand at the lieutenant in dismissal and stormed over to the bar to help himself to yet more brandy. The lieutenant for his part snapped off a salute to his sovereign, then made a precise turn and marched out the door, following in the footsteps of the majordomo and his wife as they escorted the somewhat liquid Mireje from the party.

Artie gave a low whistle and winced. "Never would have thought that sweet little lady would turn into a lush!"

"Apparently that's what Andreshko was doing his best not to tell us when he said his sister was 'very nervous.' "

"Yeah. If I had nerves like that, I'd be a puddle on the floor!"

Jim nodded towards the door, and Artie followed his glance just in time to see Anushche slip out. "Going to see about Mireje, I suppose."

"Mm. Or about the young lieutenant. Mireje called him Jenko, so apparently guarding the bride-to-be is the 'certain, ah, duties' to which Anushche's fiancé is assigned." Artie sampled some caviar, then added, "Can't say I envy the young fellow, caught between trying to please the king by keeping Mireje sober and trying to not make _her _angry by cutting her off from her booze! What a life, huh, Jim?"

"For a girl about to have the happiest day of her life, she certainly seems to be pouring the bulk of her happiness out of a bottle," Jim mused.

"Yeah," Artie agreed. He raised his own glass to his lips before taking a sudden sharp look at it, then set it down again untasted.


	5. Act One, Part Four

**Act One, Part Four**

The party broke up soon after that; most of the guests showed every sign of embarrassment at what had happened, and once the king, his face still glowering, made an early exit, the others quickly followed suit. Captain Andreshko escorted West and Gordon back to their suite, which was a good thing; what with all the running around the palace they'd done earlier, they'd have been hard pressed to find the door again on their own.

Once there, the agents invited their young friend inside for a small nightcap. Artie poured, and after a brief toast to old times, Jim asked, "Is she all right?"

Andreshko looked up warily. "She?"

"Your sister."

The young captain studied his glass for a moment. "She… is nervous," he said.

Artie gave a cough, and Andreshko looked up to find both men fixing him with piercing gazes. "Nervous?" Jim echoed.

Andreshko shrugged. "She… she is having, ah, chilly feet, I think the expression is?"

"Cold feet, you mean," Jim corrected, but Artie gave a snicker. "Son, if that's cold feet, then she's got two big blocks of ice at the ends of her legs."

"But you see, she…" Again he looked at the glass in his hands. "You… recall the remark I made on the way to the palace? The particularly indiscreet one?"

"Ah…" Artie frowned at Jim, who suggested, "The one about Anje making a better queen?"

The young officer nodded. "Mireje has been saying that as well recently, with great frequency. Not in front of His Majesty, of course, but to me and to Anje as well. My sister thinks that perhaps she was too hasty in accepting our cousin's proposal, but…" He shrugged and spread his hands. "The fact is that she _did _accept, and it is too late now to change her mind."

"So she drinks as a way of dealing with it," said Jim gently.

"_Dasda_."

"And maybe in the hopes that Stepanko will have second thoughts himself about marrying a drunk?"

Andreshko eyed Artemus sharply. "Perhaps…"

Artie sighed. "Well, good luck with that one! If it were going to work, I think it would have worked already."

"Especially before the invitations went out," said Jim. "The king was embarrassed by her behavior tonight, but I think he'd be even more embarrassed to cancel the wedding now."

"That's what I think too," said Andreshko. He downed the rest of his nightcap and set down his glass. "Good evening then, my friends. Until tomorrow."

"And the happy wedding day, yeah," said Artie.

Andreshko paused in the doorway and sighed. "Happy…" he repeated with a shake of his head before drawing the door shut behind him.

…

Whatever the disappointments of the night before, the wedding day dawned bright and festive. When the agents arose and pushed the windows of their suite open to greet the new day, they were greeted in turn by the sounds of music and singing wafting up from the Old Town. And later, as the men finished dressing for breakfast, Jim took note that Artie too was singing, in his case a favorite Stephen Foster tune.

"You're chipper," Jim commented.

Artie beamed. "No call not to be! Whatever else may be going on, we at last have good reason to rest assured that we won't either of us end up under arrest and languishing in a Pterovnian dungeon. A ponderous weight has been lifted from my shoulders, Jim. God's in His heaven, and all's right with the world!" He knotted the bowtie at his throat, smiled and nodded at his reflection in the mirror, then clapped Jim on the shoulder. "Life is beautiful, James my boy!"

There came a knock on the door. Jim opened it to find little Dr Rodin blinking up at them as he polished his pince-nez. "_Bonjour, mes amis!" _the little Frenchman bubbled. "A wonderful day for a wedding, _n'est-ce pas? _I am to escort you to the dining hall for breakfast."

However happy Artie, Dr Rodin, and the city of Ljuko at large might have been that morning, the atmosphere within the royal dining hall was subdued at best. Anje slipped from her seat at the table and swept over to the door to greet the new arrivals, each with a kiss upon his check. "_Tansha mjana, djenkozí mujo,_" said the young woman. "That is," she added for Jim's benefit, "good morning, my _djenkozí. _I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, thank you," Jim replied.

"And you?" asked Artie cordially.

"For my part, yes, quite well. His Majesty, on the other hand…" She cast troubled eyes toward the monarch at the head of the table.

No, King Stepanko certainly didn't look like he'd had a good night's rest. His eyes were bleary and red, and in the expert estimation of both Secret Service agents, the king had apparently made off with — and subsequently emptied — at least one bottle of brandy when he had vacated the party last evening to return to his own royal suite.

"Hung over?" Artie murmured to Anushche, offering her his arm to escort her back to the table.

She nodded, pained sympathy in her eyes as she gazed at her cousin.

Jim glanced around. "Mireje is not here?"

"Not yet, no. Nor is Andreshko," the girl replied. In fact, except for the five of them, the enormous hall was empty.

Quietly the small group moved to the table, choosing seats well away from the king and his obviously pounding head. "Do you have a custom here in Pterovnia," Artie asked, "of the groom not being permitted to see the bride on the day of the wedding?"

Anje stared at him, baffled. "Not see the bride! But how do they exchange their vows then?"

"Artie means that they don't lay eyes on each other until the bride comes down the aisle during the ceremony," Jim explained.

"It's supposed to ward off bad luck," Artie added.

Anje still looked dubious. "What a strange superstition!" she mused softly. "No, no, that is not a Pterovnian way."

"Obviously not," Jim agreed.

Conversation fell away as a small troop of servants entered to silently bear breakfast to the newcomers. One of the group deferentially approached His Majesty to offer some steaming hot coffee; Stepanko's reply was a shake of his head, followed instantly by a heartfelt groan at the effect that modicum of activity had on his aching head.

The hush continued throughout the meal, the other guests not wanting to worsen the king's affliction. They were just finishing when the door opened and Andreshko entered. He glanced around the room, frowned in puzzlement, then approached Anje to kiss her cheek. "Where is Mireje?" he asked softly.

Anje spread her hands with a shake of her head.

"Perhaps I should go up and see if…" he began. But at that moment the door opened once more, admitting Ruvenko Duzko. The majordomo hesitated a moment, bowed politely toward the group at the foot of the table, then squared his shoulders and straightened his tunic before crossing up to the head. "_Zartechko dujo_…" he said softly.

"Oh, what is it _now?" _Stepanko grunted, his hand shading his eyes as he took a sip of whatever he was drinking — judging from his refusal at the beginning of the meal, the liquid in his morning's cup was plainly not coffee.

Duzko glanced at the others, then leaned closer to whisper his message into the sovereign's ear.

"_What?" _Stepanko jerked back in his chair, his eyes nearly popping from his head. "What do you mean, she isn't… No, that isn't possible!"

"_Teshnante djo, Zartechko dujo_…" said Duzko, murmuring apologies, "but I'm afraid it's the truth. My wife went to awaken the baroness, and she found…"

The king smashed a fist down onto the table top, snarling out a Pterovnian oath. "This cannot be possible!" he proclaimed loudly. He surged to his feet, his face twisting with the agony produced by such sudden activity, as well as by its accompanying loud noises. He then pointed at the other end of the table. "You! My friends, Mr West, Mr Gordon. You are lawmen in your own country and know how to do this sort of thing correctly. Come with me at once!" He stalked from the room, Duzko following close behind him.

Jim and Artie glanced at each other, then turned to the remaining three in the room. "What's going on?"

Anje spread her hands again, a look of bafflement upon her face. "Dreshko? Do you know?"

"_Njede_ — no, I have no idea. But… His Majesty requests your presence, my friends. You must hurry after him."

"Right." The two Americans strode from the dining hall, leaving Anje, Andreshko, and Dr Rodin staring after them.

Rodin pulled off his pince-nez, polished them, and popped them back onto his nose. "Dear me!" he murmured distractedly. "I wonder what could have happened?"

"That is a very good question, Dr Rodin," said Anje.

"And the way to find out the answer is to follow the king, I would say," added Andreshko. "Come!"

Moments later a servant peeped out from the door to the kitchen to find the dining hall empty. "Hey, Luigi!" he called over his shoulder. "I told you, but you wouldn't listen to me. Definitely too much garlic in the omelets!"

…

The king with his abbreviated entourage swept through the halls of the palace and on up the stairs. As they arrived at a certain door, Duzko stepped forward demurely to open it for His Majesty, who strode on inside and glared around darkly. "Now, what is this?" he barked. "What is all this nonsense…"

Duzko's wife Catalina bounded to her feet, a lace handkerchief pressed to her face. Wordlessly she led the way to an interior door and pushed it open, then pointed within.

Jim and Artie followed the king inside, their eyes taking in the room before them. It was a beautifully appointed bedroom, the curtains wafting in the breeze from the open windows. A lavishly decorated white wedding gown stood upon a dressmaker's dummy in one corner, its yards-long train coiled around the mannequin's base.

Catalina, however, was pointing at the bed. The silken sheets of the massive four poster were in a state of great disarray, some of them fallen half off the bed. And on the pillow itself was, of all things, an envelope.

Stepanko glanced back at the government agents, then crossed the room to take up the envelope. He turned it over, studied the seal for a moment, then broke it and drew out the letter from within.

His eyes scanned the writing on the sheet of paper rapidly, then closed as he let out of groan of anguish. He dropped the letter, staggered, and leaned against one of the posts of the bed. "_Njede_," he whispered. "_Njede!"_

Jim seized the sovereign's arm and led him to a chair. "Your Majesty," he asked sternly. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Great jumping balls of St Elmo's fire!" came a voice from near the bed.

Jim looked over to see his partner now holding the letter to the king. "Artie, what is it? What does it say?" He held out his hand to take the sheet of parchment.

Artie handed it over willingly enough, then pointed at the lines in neatly written Pterovnian. "It says… well, I'll give you the exact translation later. The gist of the letter is this: Baroness Mireje has been kidnapped!"

From the doorway came a gasp. Anje, having trailed after the royal party up to her cousin's rooms, reeled back against Mireje's brother and collapsed.

**End of Act One**


	6. Act Two, Part One

**Act Two, Part One**

"Quickly. Bring her here," said Catalina, taking charge of at least part of the situation. She led Andreshko as he bore the swooning Anje back out into the front room of the missing Mireje's suite, and directed the young soldier to settle his cousin upon the divan. "Smelling salts," she told him. "In the washroom. Quickly!" She knelt and chafed Anje's wrists while Dr Rodin hovered nearby, nervously polishing his glasses.

Within the bedroom, Jim studied the letter, then passed it back to Artie. "I'd prefer that full translation right now," he said.

"Sure, Jim, sure." With a quick _ahem _to clear his throat, Artie read aloud:

_Your Majesty,_

_It cannot have escaped your attention that, now that the day of your nuptials has arrived, something vital is missing from the festivities. No doubt your mind is racing with questions at this moment: Where is my fiancée? Why has this happened? What must I do to ensure her safe return?_

_All in good time, Highness, all in good time. And rest assured that the answers to these questions come at a price. Romantic rhetoric dictates that the price of Love is far beyond rubies and diamonds, an inestimable treasure, for who would not give all that he possesses, yes, even his own life, for Love? _

_But our demands are far more modest. We require of you a mere 100,000 Ptervonian krufkozí, to be placed in a plain cloth sack and deposited within the throne room of the Old Palace at midnight three days hence. Once that is done, you may expect all your questions to be answered forthwith._

Artie held the paper out to Jim again. "You, ah, probably already noted the lack of any signature."

Jim nodded and picked up the envelope, studying the broken bits of wax. "I don't suppose anyone recognized the seal that had been pressed into the wax?" he asked loudly of everyone within earshot, both those with him in the bedroom and those out in the front room where Andreshko was just handing the bottle of smelling salts to Catalina.

"Of course I recognized it!" the king growled, springing to his feet and beginning to pace. "It was the Gorashko family crest. Whoever sealed that envelope used Mireje's own signet ring to do so. But who could have done this? Who hates me so badly as to carve my heart from my chest like this? How were they able to steal Mireje from her own rooms? Where have they taken my beloved? And where…" He whirled and glared at his majordomo. "Where is that worthless bodyguard Lieutenant Chel… Chel…" Angrily Stepanko shook his hand in midair. "Ah, what is the idiot's name?"

"Lieutenant Jenko Chelzumortko, Highness," came a voice from the front room. There in the doorway, swaying and holding onto the doorframe, stood the king's cousin Anje, her eyes every bit as fiery as her voice was now frosty. "Jenko, who happens to be my fiancé, lest we forget, is neither worthless nor an idiot. Doubtless the kidnappers have done something to him, and..." With a sudden gasp of horror, she exclaimed, "No, the windows! They are standing open. Surely the kidnappers did not fling him to his death!" She rushed to a window and leaned out.

Catalina hurried after her and caught her about the wrist. "Dreshko, come and help me!" she called to the captain, and to Anje she added urgently, "_Zernkje muje, _please, come away from the window. There is tragedy enough for one day; do not let yourself be added to it!"

Andreshko tugged his cousin away from the open window and started to lead her back toward the front room. "Come and lie down on the divan for a while longer, Anushche. You'll feel better," he advised.

"How can I feel better, Dreshko, when Mireje is gone and no one knows what has become of my Jenko? Oh, Jenko, _Jenko!" _she cried loudly and fell to the floor, weeping.

At that moment the two Secret Service agents turned and looked at each other. "You hear something, Jim?"

"Yes, thumping." Both men made a quick visual survey of the room, searching for the source of the sound. "There! The wardrobe!"

Jim, Artie, and young Dreshko as well made for the tall, fancifully carved oaken cabinet in the corner. Jim grabbed the latch and shook it. "Locked."

"I have the key," Catalina offered, reaching into the reticule pinned at her waist.

"That's fine, Cat, but Jim's got it," said Artie. Sure enough, Jim slipped his handy little lock pick from its pocket under his lapel and in three seconds had the door open.

For the next three seconds everyone in the room simply stared, most of them with mouths agape, at the amazing sight the opening of the door had disclosed within the wardrobe. Then…

"_Jenko!" _Anje scrambled up off the floor and flung herself upon the tall lieutenant who was crammed within the wardrobe, ropes binding him hand and foot, with a gag tied around his mouth. "Oh, Jenko!" Anje pulled the gag free and kissed him. "What, oh, what happened? Come, help him out of here!"

Between the combined efforts of Jim, Artie, and Dreshko, hampered slightly by Anje's incessant fluttering over her fiancé, the lieutenant was shortly set loose and escorted to the divan in the front room. He sat down and stretched out his legs, rubbing at his wrists, blushing slightly at Anje's solicitous attention. "I am fine, I am fine, Anushche, I assure you," he repeated over and over.

"It is well that _you _are fine," the king's voice cut in coldly, "but what of Mireje?"

At that the lieutenant looked up, then all around, a dawning horror settling into his eyes. "But… where is my Lady?" Jenko asked at last.

"We were hoping you could tell us," said Jim. And Artie, beside him, wordlessly held out the ransom note.

Jenko read it and sprang to his feet. "_Njede!" _he exclaimed. "No, this cannot be! I was guarding. I was… I was…" Suddenly he looked all about. "That bottle. Mir… my Lady asked for more wine. I advised her that she had already had too much. She said… ah…"

"Go on," said Jim, and the king, arms folded, echoed him. "Yes, Lieutenant, do go on."

Jenko rubbed at the back of his neck. "She said if I did not wish her to drink so much, I must make the wine disappear myself." Sheepishly he explained, "She meant that I must drink some too, so there would be less for her. I took a glass, intending to pretend to drink, then distract her and dump out the rest. But then she proposed a toast — 'To marriage!' — and I could not abstain without being rude."

Artie shook his head. "Looks like I need to give this young fellow a quick lesson in sham drinking!" he muttered to Jim.

"And when you drank?" Jim prompted.

"I… I don't know. I vaguely remember the room… spinning? But how could that be? I saw Mi… my Lady pass her hand over her face, then collapse. I… I _think _someone came into the room? But after that, nothing. Nothing until a few minutes ago when I heard someone cry out my name and realized it was Anushche. That's when I discovered I was bound and gagged and stuffed into a small space. So I began to kick the walls."

"And that's when we heard you," said Artie. He sighed and shook his head. "Well, my young friend, in the ongoing informal contest of who had the worst night last night, I think you just surged past the king into second place. No offense, Your Majesty," he added, anticipating that Stepanko would be glaring daggers at him.

"And for whom," growled Stepanko, "are you reserving first place in this irreverent game of yours?"

"Why, for Mireje of course! Unless someone can beat getting kidnapped?"

"Artie…" muttered Jim quellingly. He well understood making jokes in the face of disaster, but the king didn't seem to be particularly charmed by his partner's gallows humor.

"_Zartechko dujo_…" came a voice.

Stepanko glared at the speaker. "Oh, what do you want, you young fool?"

Lieutenant Jenko snapped to attention and saluted stiffly. "My king, I wish to report for duty."

"Duty? What… what are you talking about?"

Eyes straight ahead and still maintaining his salute, Jenko replied, "Sir! It is my job to guard Baroness Mireje. Whoever took her had to go through me…"

"…and did!" the king broke in sourly.

"…and therefore my reputation is at stake, my king. Give the word, and I ride at once to rescue both your bride and my good name!"

"What? Jenko, no!" Anje protested. "You just spent the night crammed into a wardrobe, and are recovering from a drugged sleep as well! You must rest first. There are plenty of soldiers the king may send instead of you."

Jenko turned to her and took both her hands in his. "That is true, Anushche my own. But how can I marry you if I have not done everything in my power to find and restore the baroness to the king? My name is at stake. Or dare I say it, _our _name, when the time comes that you share mine?"

Artie thumped his nose and shot a glance at Jim. What a pair of love-struck kids! But it was the king, one hand over his face, who spoke up. "Fine, fine! Go at once and rescue your name and my bride! But hear this and hear this well, Lieutenant Chel… Cher…"

"Chelzumortko," the majordomo supplied.

"Yes, yes. Hear me well, Lieutenant Chelzumortko: if you fail in your mission and do not return here with Baroness Mireje within the three days given in the letter — then do not return at all."

Anje gaped, stunned. "Panko!" she hissed.

"That is my decision, and it is final!" Stepanko roared. He swept across the room, very nearly knocking little Dr Rodin right off his feet. Then the king strode out and slammed the door behind him.

Jim caught the little Frenchman and set him upright again. For a moment everyone stared at the still vibrating door. Then Jenko said, "It will all be fine, Anushche, you shall see. Yes, perfect — more than perfect! All that I have promised you I shall do, and all our plans and dreams for the future shall come to pass." Her hands still clasped between his, he smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "_Atuchejnte dje,_" he said.

"_Atuchejnte djo," _she replied.

As Anje turned to watch him leave as well, Jenko gave a nod to all those still present. "Good-bye, my friends," he said. Then he too swept from the room, but for his part he closed the door behind him very gently indeed.


	7. Act Two, Part Two

**Act Two, Part Two**

"Well," said James West briskly. "The king asked us to investigate, so let's get started. Artie, you talk to them while I check for clues."

"Right, Jim." Artie turned to those who were still present. "Ladies, if you wouldn't mind taking seats on the divan."

Anje and Catalina exchanged a glance, then complied.

"Thank you. And you gentlemen, if you could all find chairs."

Andreshko pulled a couple of wingchairs over and gestured for Dr Rodin and the majordomo to take advantage of them. The young officer, however, chose to take up a position standing just behind Lady Anje.

"Fine, fine," said Artie. Every eye, his own included, stole a look at the bedroom door as Jim closed himself inside, then Artie began the questioning with, "Well. It was an eventful night last night. Let's begin at the point when the king sent Mireje back up to her roo… No, let's go back further than that. _Merinko _Duzko — that is, I presume I address you as _Merinko, _as Mister? Or do you have a title?"

The majordomo rubbed a thumb over one corner of his moustache and rumbled out, "No, no title. Mr Duzko will do." Catalina reached over and laid her hand on his.

Artie nodded. "All right. So last night at the party, Mr Duzko, after Jim and I made our grand entrance, the king noticed the lack of his fiancée's presence and sent you to fetch her."

The man nodded. "_Dasda_."

"And then you, Cat. You followed him up here, correct?"

She looked a bit startled. "I… _Sí_. Yes, I did."

"And Mireje was already sloshed?"

Duzko glanced at his wife. "_Teshnante_," he began, then switched to English. "I beg your pardon, Mr Gordon, but… 'sloshed'?"

"Drunk, he means, Ruvenko," Catalina murmured. "_Sí, Señor _Gordon, she was, I am sorry to say, _borracha_."

"And you told us," Artie now turned to Captain Andreshko, "that Mireje has been drinking quite a bit lately."

"Well… yes," the missing woman's brother replied in an unhappy mumble.

"But what does this have to do with your investigation, _droshtafko?" _Anje broke in. "Why does it matter whether Mireje was drunk or sober so early in the evening?"

"Probably nothing," said Artie. "But for a girl about to marry Prince Charming and live happily ever after, she didn't seem to be very happy."

"Perhaps not, but…" Catalina began, then turned to Anje at her side.

Anje smiled wanly. "I too am shortly to be married, Artemus. I too am very nervous, wondering if I am about to make the biggest mistake of my life. And I do not have the added pressure upon my shoulders that Mireje does, that of becoming a queen as well. I have… I have spoken to her about her drinking. We all have." She glanced around, and all the others nodded.

Now Anje drew a lace handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and said, "And on top of all that, to be stolen from her very bed and carried off into the night by, by, well, by who knows whom!" She sniffled and pressed the cloth to her eyes. Behind her, Andreshko squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, and she reached up to pat his hand.

"All right, moving on then," said Artie. "The pair of you," and he indicated the Duzkos, "along with Lieutenant Jenko, um, escorted Mireje down to the party. And after her even grander entrance than Jim's and mine, you three brought her back upstairs again. What happened next?"

The Duzkos glanced at each other and shrugged. "I helped her into her nightgown and put her to bed," said Catalina.

"And the bottle of wine Lieutenant Jenko mentioned? Where is that?"

Again Catalina shrugged. "I know nothing of a bottle of wine, _señor. _I helped _la baronesa _to bed, turned down the lights, locked up, and went off to our rooms as usual." She gripped her husband's hand.

"All was well then, Mr Gordon," the majordomo added. "I did my own usual rounds of the entrances and exits of the palace. All was properly locked up when I joined my wife in our rooms. There were no alarms during the night. We knew of nothing wrong until this morning when my wife came up to awaken the baroness to dress her for breakfast. She knocked… That is, you knocked?" He turned to Catalina.

"_Sí_. Yes, I knocked upon the door, expecting Lieutenant Jenko to open it for me. He sleeps here, upon this divan, ready to spring to the aid of _la baronesa _if anything should occur. But when I knocked…" She spread her hands. "No one answered. I used my key to let myself in, and found…" She shook her head in bafflement. "The suite was deserted. I saw no trace of anyone."

"Were the windows usually left open at night?"

Startled, everyone turned to see Mr West, arms folded, leaning against the doorjamb of the bedroom door.

Dr Rodin jumped and pressed a hand over his heart. "Why, _M'sieur _West! I did not hear you emerge!"

West gave a small smile at the Frenchman, then addressed Catalina once more. "The windows, _señora?"_

"Ah, _sí, sí, la baronesa _preferred them to be open at night for the cool breeze."

Jim's eyes swept over the five people seated in the room, each of them watching him back with varying degrees of nervousness and expectancy. Then one of them spoke up.

"And did you find anything, Mr West?" asked Anje.

He nodded. "I found the remains of a bottle of wine on the floor, rolled up under the head of the bed."

"Oh!" That was Catalina. "The drugged wine then, that Lieutenant Jenko told us of."

"Very likely, yes." Jim glanced around the room again. "So, _Señora_ Reyes…"

"_Zerinje _Duzche," she corrected gently.

"_Señora_," said Jim. "The last you saw of the baroness, she was in her own bed ready to go to sleep."

"_Sí_."

"And you, Mr, ah, Duzko," Jim turned to the majordomo. "When did you last see Mireje?"

"I aided Lieutenant Jenko to bring her upstairs, but left her in the hands of my wife to ready her for bed. I had my usual rounds to make, in addition to seeing off His Majesty's guests after the party ended."

Jim nodded. "What about the rest of you? Anje, Andreshko, Dr Rodin?"

Anje glanced at the two men, then answered. "We did not leave the party until after the king did. For my part, I then went up to my own suite and to bed. I did not go to see Mireje before that, nor did I visit her when I came down for breakfast. And then of course, we three followed you up after Ruvenko here came in bringing his distressing news." She turned her eyes up to look at Andreshko standing behind her.

"And I, as you know, gentlemen, escorted the pair of you back to your suite after the party. After our brief conversation and the nightcap, I returned to my rooms and retired for the night." He now turned to Dr Rodin.

"_Moi?" _The Frenchman shrugged. "I, ah… had made the acquaintance of a charming young lady during the party. We, er… we chose to… peruse the royal library for a bit _après de la fête_." He tugged at his collar. "In a manner of speaking, that is."

"And the young lady's name?" Jim prompted.

"_M'sieur!" _Rodin drew himself up in his chair, affronted. "It would not be chivalrous to speak of the lady in question by name!"

Artie tugged at his earlobe as he shot Jim a smirk. "I think, Dr Rodin, that we can probably leave the, ah, other party to your little tryst out of our investigation. For now, at least."

"Mr Duzko," said Jim, "have you gone around the palace this morning unlocking what you locked up last night?"

"_Dasda_. Yes, of course."

"And was anything amiss?"

"No, no," said the man thoughtfully. "All was as I left it last night. All doors locked, all windows securely shut."

"And what about the servants? Do they live in the palace?"

"Many of them, yes." Duzko's brows knit. "You suspect one of them?"

"Not necessarily, but I would like to interview them, if you would please go gather them all together. Perhaps one of them saw or heard something during the night."

"I shall gather them directly, Mr West, in my office." Duzko stood, then turned to his wife and offered his elbow. "Katalinje?"

"Just a moment, _señora,_" said Jim.

Catalina paused. "_Sí, señor?"_

"How many keys to this suite are there, and who has them?"

"_La baronesa _had one, of course. I have one, as does my husband. The king too may have one, I suppose."

"We'd like to have yours now." Jim held out his hand.

"Ah? But why?" She began fumbling at the reticule pinned at her waist.

"We need to lock up the suite," Artie explained. "Until further notice, no one is to enter these rooms."

"_Pardonnez-moi, m'sieur_," put in Dr Rodin, "but is that not a case of, as you Americans say, locking the barn door after the horse is stolen?"

"Well, that _is _unfortunately all too apt," said Artie ruefully.

"However, there's still the possibility we might find more clues here," Jim pointed out.

"Not to mention the possibility that someone linked to the crime might realize he left something incriminating behind and want to come back."

"But with the suite locked, he — or for that matter, she — won't be able to come in and destroy such evidence."

"And for that reason, Cat, we'd like to have your key now." Artie held out a hand.

"Yours as well, Mr Duzko."

A look of fury on his face, the majordomo yanked out his key ring, found and removed the proper one, and slammed it into Jim's hand. "Would you like the rest of my keys as well?" he snapped.

"No, this one will do," said Jim calmly. He then crossed to the door and made sure it worked.

"Surely you do not suspect Ruvenko of being involved," Anje protested as Catalina removed her own key and laid it in Artie's hand.

"Of course not," Artie replied with a smile. He patted Catalina's hand, and blinked when she looked up at him, that familiar expression of confusion upon her face. "Don't worry, Cat. We'll get this all cleared up _muy pronto_, you'll see. Mireje will be back before you know it."

Catalina extracted her hand from Artie's and took her husband's arm. "_Gracias_," she said. "_Muchas gracias_." The pair left the room, and as they hurried away down the hall, Artie heard Duzko hiss to his wife in Pterovnian, "Why does he insist upon calling you Cat, my wife?"

"It is but a nickname from when we knew each other before, my husband, back at the West Coast Embassy," she assured him.

"But _why? _Why must he use a nickname for you at all?"

"I never truly understood that myself, Ruvenko." At this point the couple rounded the corner, their voices fading as they began to descend the stairs.

"If we may leave also?" asked Anje. She came to her feet, as did Dr Rodin. Andreshko slipped out from behind the divan to offer her his arm.

"Oh, certainly," said Artie. "If you think of anything that might help, be sure to tell us."

"And if we have any more questions, we'll know where to find you," added Jim.

"Yes, of course." She accepted her cousin's arm, and slid her other hand through the crook of Dr Rodin's elbow. "What I should like most, I think, is to retire to my own room to have a good cry. But I think instead I must seek out Cousin Panko. No doubt he's in a terrible state just now. I must steady him. My own grief can wait." She nodded to Jim and Artie. "I hope your investigation goes well. _Atuchejnte djozí_ — for now." The three of them left the room as well.

Artie let out a puff of air. "Well, isn't this fun! A kidnapped bride just before the wedding, and we're on the hook to find her!"

Jim went into the bedroom and returned a few seconds later bearing the bottle of wine he'd found under the bed. As he handed it over to his partner, he said, "So is there any hope of you analyzing this? I mean, I don't suppose you brought a portable lab with you all the way to Pterovnia."

Artie accepted the bottle and took a moment to inspect the label. "Mm. At least they didn't ruin a truly _fine _wine! And, no, I didn't bring a full lab with me, but there's bound to be some sort of chemist's shop here in Lyuko." He glanced up at Jim and, with a twinkle in his eye, added, "And then if worst comes to worst, there's always the old-fashioned way."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I take a slug of the stuff myself and try to figure out my symptoms before it conks me out!"

…

In his prison cell in the dungeons of the Old Palace, Capt Koloshko stared up at the tiny barred window high above his head and awaited the inevitable.

…

"What a beautiful sight!" Artemus murmured to himself as he strolled across the courtyard of the New Palace toward the open portcullis. Out the gate he went, then paused to grin back at the heavy iron grillwork suspended high within the gate. No being locked up today! Or at least… A frown settled on his face. _He _wasn't locked up, but what, he wondered, had happened to Mireje? Was she languishing somewhere, waiting for deliverance?

From the pocket of his mauve jacket Artie pulled out the directions he'd been given to the nearest chemist's shop. _Turn right and head toward the river_, it said, and so he did.

Behind him, across the street from the palace, a kid peeked out from an alleyway. "There!" he hissed in Pterovnian. "One of the Americans. The Boss will be pleased!"

The boy took a step towards the street to follow the American, only to be jerked backwards by a hand on his sleeve. "Idiot, he will see you!" snarled his companion. "Besides, he is not the one. It is the _blue_-eyed American; he is the one the Boss wants. Remember?"

"But he will know where his countryman is, will he not?" the kid insisted. "He may even lead us to him!"

"His countryman is still within the palace!" said the other. Then he paused, his brows knitting. "Or at least, he has not left by way of the gate… But he is very resourceful, as we have been told. Perhaps… perhaps he has left the palace by some other way…"

The kid grinned at his companion's misgivings. "Then I shall follow that one, the brown-eyed one?"

"Ah… yes. Yes, go. And quickly! See where he goes and report back to me. I shall stay here and watch for the other."

With a grin, the kid tore off down the road, hoping he hadn't lost the brown-eyed man already. And back in the alley, his companion, a somewhat scruffy-looking man in a mud-splotched green coat, settled in to continue watching for the other American.

…

The bell on the door jingled as Artie stepped into the chemist's shop. From the back a voice called out in Pterovnian, "I shall be with you presently!"

That was fine; Artie prowled around the shop as he waited, looking at the various displays, paying particular attention to the long braids of local herbs hanging up to dry. He leaned close, challenging himself to identify them without peeking at any labels. If he was the least bit aware of a young kid settling down on the sidewalk opposite the chemist's shop to munch on an apple, Artie gave no sign of it.

"Ah, good morning, sir!" came the voice again as someone stepped through the curtained doorway from the back. "How may I help you today?"

Artie turned to face the chemist, and in that moment, whether because of his long history as an actor, or as a prankster, or simply from habit, Artie abruptly fell into a character. His shoulders stooped, his eyes blinked myopically, and his voice softened, becoming mousy and developing a stutter. "Wh-why, yes. Yes, my good man, I-I hope you can," he replied in perfectly good Pterovnian. "Th-th-this b-bottle of wine here. It, it was given to me this, ah, this past Christmas. I only just o-o-opened it last night, you see, and took a glass of it. And th-this morning I awakened to, to find myself still, ah, still sitting at my t-t-table. I-I think there must be some, some sleeping draught in the b-bottle. C-c-could you check it f-for me, please?"

"Sleeping draught?" The chemist, a bespectacled man with thinning hair, came over to take the bottle Artie was holding out. "But why would anyone want to do that? Who gave this to you?"

"I-I-I haven't the least clue wh-wh-why," Artie replied. With a chagrined smile, he added, "And I-I'm embarrassed to a-admit that I, ah, I d-d-don't recall who g-gave it to me. My m-m-memory isn't wh-what it used to, ah, used to be, you see."

"Hmm. Well, let's have a look." The chemist carried the bottle through the curtained doorway into the back. "Ah… you're not supposed to come back here," he added, seeing that Artie had followed him.

"Oh, but you did say 'let's'!" Artie replied brightly. Still wearing that gently befuddled smile on his face, Artie sat down at the chemist's work bench and settled his hat upon his primly drawn together knees. "I-I've always wished I'd b-become a chemist," he said, putting a sigh of regret into his voice. "S-s-such fa-fascinating work! B-b-but Mother insisted I follow in Father's footsteps." Again he sighed.

Only partly paying attention to his customer's prattle, the chemist set up some apparatus and began examining the bottle more thoroughly. "And what sort of work do you do?" he asked.

"F-f-florist," Artie answered with the first thing that popped into his head. "I-I supplied n-nearly th-th-three wagonloads of p-pansies for the royal wedding."

The chemist gave a snort and shook his head as he measured out some of the wine. "I hope you got paid, then. Word is going around that there won't _be _any wedding."

"Oh?" Rumors were flying already, were they? Trying to keep his interest purely casual, Artie asked, "What, what have you heard?"

It was such a simple question, but it sure reaped Artie a huge reply.


	8. Act Two, Part Three

**Act Two, Part Three**

"So how'd it go at the chemist's, Artie?" Jim asked about an hour later.

"The wine was laced with laudanum, Jim. Effective, but hard to trace. It's a fairly common preparation, you know. The chemist estimated that maybe a third or even half the homes here in Lyuko would have a bottle on hand!"

Jim grimaced. "So that's a wash."

"Well, I guess if we get desperate, we could try to track down the source of the laudanum — we'd have to be _mighty _desperate though! But what about you, Jim? How did it go with the servants?"

Jim shook his head. "Not much. A few people recalled hearing a sound or two during the night, but then when they described the circumstances, someone else would admit — sheepishly — to having made a midnight raid on the kitchen, or a visit to the necessary. Oh, and on top of that, it seems our Dr Rodin wasn't the only one slipping off for a clandestine tryst in the wee hours."

"So no leads left?"

"Not if everyone was telling the truth, no. I was thinking I would…"

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

The agents turned. "Yes, Mr Duzko?"

With a bow, the majordomo said, "Will you please come with me? His Majesty will be making an announcement in the throne room momentarily, and desires the attendance of all those in the palace, both servants and guests." With a second bow, Duzko set off leading the way. Jim and Artie shared a brief glance of puzzled curiosity, then followed.

The throne room was packed when they arrived, but the crowd made way for the majordomo and the Americans in his wake, allowing them to move down front. The three had barely found places to stand near Anje, Dr Rodin, and Catalina when the side door opened to admit the king escorted by an honor guard which included Capt Andreshko.

A hush fell over the room as King Stepanko mounted the dais and turned to face them all. In a low voice that had the people in the back cupping their hands behind their ears the better to hear him, the king spoke no more than two or three sentences in Pterovnian, then left the room again, his guards surrounding him.

A stunned silence followed, to be replaced mere seconds later by a general susurration as everyone in the room leaned closer to his or her neighbor to question the reliability of his or her own auditory perception. In the case of the group of which the Americans were a part, it was Dr Rodin who voiced the question: "Do my ears deceive me? Can he really have said what I believe I just heard?"

"What did he say?" asked Jim.

"Well," Artie responded, "he started out by confirming the obvious, that there won't be any wedding here today. He then added…"

Anje cut in, shaking her head. "But what an order to give! Surely Panko does not expect complete obedience. It is simply human nature to speak of the inexplicable!"

"And the order he gave?" Jim inquired.

Artie thumped at his nose with a forefinger and sighed. "Out of respect for his own privacy and that of Baroness Mireje, the king ordered us all to keep mum about the kidnapping. Not a word to anyone, not even to the invited guests staying elsewhere in the city. The truth of what happened stays here within these walls."

Jim leveled a disbelieving look at Artie. "What does he expect that to accomplish? As Anje just said, people _will _talk. And if they don't have the real version to talk about, they'll make up their own versions, then keep embellishing on them. Before we know it, the whole city will be certain that Mireje was, oh, whisked off in a flying pie plate by a bunch of green-skinned women from Venus."

"I have no idea what… wait, _what?" _Artie shot Jim a horrified look before trying to find his derailed train of thought again. "I… well, I've no idea what His Majesty is up to. But I _can _tell you this: he's already far too late in trying to contain the news. During my brief excursion out to that chemist's shop, Great Scott, but I heard a merry profusion of rumors! And in the current absence of any concrete information, you just know the rumors are going to continue on multiplying like rabbits." Artie held up a hand and starting ticking off the items on his fingers. "Some folks had it that the king had fallen ill. Others thought that it was Mireje who was sick. Still others thought that another kind of falling was involved: that one or the other of them had fallen from a horse, or down a staircase. The king has backed out of the engagement entirely. Or Mireje has. Rumors of drunken hangovers…" Artie gave a cough. "Well, we know about _that _one, don't we? Oh, and there's even one tale that has it that Stepanko has spurned his fiancée in favor of a serving girl! I tell you, if he thinks he's going to quell folks' curiosity by simply ordering everyone to keep their mouths shut, he'd better wake up and smell the… um…"

Artie broke off as Andreshko appeared suddenly at Jim's elbow. With a faint smile to the instantly silent Mr Gordon, the captain said, "My apologies, gentlemen, but the king requires Mr West's presence immediately."

"Ah?" The agents exchanged a look. "Thank you, Captain," said Jim. "I'll be right there." As the young officer nodded and stepped back, Jim drew his partner aside for a brief and quiet conference. "It's just as well the king sent for me, because I was about to go demand an audience with him. The way he's acting, all I can think is that something new has happened that he hasn't told us of yet," said Jim.

"Mm," Artie responded. "And maybe when you speak to him just now, you'll get to find out what."

Jim gave a tight smile. "Oh, I'm not leaving again until I know what's going on, believe me!" He turned now to follow Andreshko towards the side door.

Just at that moment at the main throne room door there arose a commotion. Both Americans and the young captain as well whirled to see what was happening. The majordomo Duzko was already ahead of them, hurrying across the room and through the crowds who were trying to exit to reach a pretty young woman who was doing her best to force her way into the room, against the tide.

Artie glanced at her, then at Jim. Sure enough, though not a word passed between them, the look in Jim's eyes and the nod of his head directed Artie to go find out what this latest occurrence was about. And with that matter in his partner's capable hands, Jim followed Capt Andreshko to the king's office.

Artie closed in quickly upon Duzko and the lovely young woman who was so determined to enter the throne room. "_Teshnante dje, Zernkje muje,"_ Artie heard the majordomo saying, "My apologies, my Lady, but your presence is not required here at this time. Please return to your embassy and await further instructions there."

"Re-return to the embassy! But, Duzko, you know that I am to be here to attend on Baroness Mireje for the wedding! Granted, I am a bit early, but still…" She was looking rapidly about the room; for whom she might have been searching Artie wasn't sure, but the fact that she found someone was readily apparent. Her eyes and mouth made three perfect O's of surprise. "But… that man! Who is he? That man there, the one in blue, going out the…" She was pointing, but then sagged. "Going out the door," she repeated glumly. "And now he is gone."

"Excuse me, _Merinko_ Duzko. I'll see to this, if you don't mind," said Artemus as he smoothly steered the majordomo off to one side. Then with one of his patented lopsided smiles, Artie bowed to the young woman. And what a beauty she was too, regally attired in silks and laces, with strands of pearls adorning her dark blonde hair!

"May I help you?" asked Artie winsomely.

"Oh! I…" Distractedly, she gazed for a moment at the door that was now firmly closed. "Forgive me. I thought I saw someone I once… But perhaps I am mistaken. I thought the man who left just now looked very familiar to me."

"Ah, I see," Artie responded, wondering if she could have meant Jim, since the door through which Jim had just departed was the only one on the far side of the room. And in addition to that, Jim certainly was dressed in blue just now.

At this point Duzko caught Artie's arm and hissed into his ear, "Tell her to leave! The king demands it!"

The man started to rush away again, but Artie caught him by his arm in turn. "You just spoke to the king?"

"I do not need to! You heard the instructions he gave to all of us just now. She does not need to know anything of this business. Tell her to go!"

"But…" Artie began. Ruvenko Duzko, however, eluded Artie's staying hand this time and hurried officiously across the room to shoo some stragglers out the main throne room door.

Hmm. Never one to bow out of anything still puzzled, Artie crooked his elbow and offered it to the young lovely. "Tell you what, my dear, let's go somewhere the majordomo won't be constantly interrupting us, and you can tell me all about what's brought you here to the palace today and why the man who went through that door is familiar to you."

After a moment's hesitation, she accepted the offer. "Very well then, sir. But we go through that door there! After all, the man I recognized may well be just on the other side."

"Fair enough," said Artie. He knew Jim wouldn't be just on the other side, but the girl was a mystery, and a pretty one to boot. He patted her hand and led the way.

…

"Mr West is here to see you, Your Highness."

"Ah, excellent. Admit him, Dreshko, then keep the door."

The young captain ushered James West inside, then stepped back out and closed the door behind him, leaving the king alone with his American guest.

"I am glad you have come so promptly, my friend. Please, sit, sit! And will you have something to drink?" Stepanko crossed to a well-stocked liquor cabinet and reached for a bottle.

Standing in the at-ease posture by the desk, Jim replied, "No, thank you, sir. This is a time for keeping one's wits sharp and clear, not for drowning them in drink."

Stepanko's hand shook, and he set the bottle of brandy back in its place unpoured. "You are right, of course, my friend. Too many wits have been dulled by drink lately, far too many. Tell me, then: what do you make of this?" The king came to his desk, took up an envelope, and passed it to Jim.

The envelope was familiar, very similar to the one they had seen earlier in Mireje's suite, and on the back, Jim saw, were the remnants of a broken seal of wax, also similar to the earlier one. "The Gorachko family crest again?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, yes. But never mind about that. Read the letter! This is what I found upon my desk awaiting me when I… ah, well, when I bolted from my beloved's suite earlier. Read it!"


	9. Act Two, Part Four

**Act Two, Part Four**

Sure enough, there was no one beyond the side door of the throne room. Artie read the disappointment on the young woman's lovely face. "An old friend of yours?" he asked.

She sighed. "Oh, but that is the problem! I have met him before; I am sure of that. But I cannot recall precisely _where _I have seen him…"

Working on the assumption that she had in fact recognized Jim, Artie asked helpfully, "Well, have you ever been to America?"

This question was greeted by a small laugh. "Oh my, yes! One of the more memorable journeys of my life. I was kidnapped, you see, and held a prisoner in the cellar of my country's embassy in Washington City by order of my very own brother! As you may imagine, I saw precious little of the United States during my sojourn there, but at length I was rescued by…" A look of delight suffused her face. "Ah, but _that _is from whence I know the man I just saw! He was the one who rescued me, and his name is…"

With a snap of his fingers, Artie suddenly exclaimed. "Of course! Princess Gina Carlottica of Albania!"

"No, my rescuer's name was James West. _I _am Princess Gi…" She broke off, her eyes widening. "But how is it that you know my nickname? Only close members of my family call me Carlottica!"

"I beg your pardon, Highness. It happens that I once heard a member of your family speak of you by that name. You see, I, ah… had a certain, shall we say, _acquaintance _with your brother Gio." And there was something glittering in his eyes as he said that.

Slowly, and edging away a bit as she spoke, the princess responded with, "Dear me. I'm afraid the fact that you were a former associate of my brother does not particularly inspire me to trust you, Mr, ah…"

"Gordon. Artemus Gordon. James West is my partner. I was there at the embassy the night Jim found you, the night that your brother, ah…"

She nodded. "The night Gio fell through the ceiling, or so I was told. Poor Gio! He went from being a robust athlete to a helpless invalid in less than a second."

Artie stared at her. "Invalid? You mean he survived that? I saw him sprawled on the floor, Highness, right after it happened. He, uh, didn't look in very good shape, you know."

"Considering that all he is able to do anymore is lie about drooling, no, he is not in very good shape. However," she added, "he had long before squandered his talents by living a life of crime, and at least now he is no longer the head of the Camorra." She glanced up at him. "But enough about my poor misguided brother. I am very relieved to know you are not among his former companions in wickedness! And you are Artemus Gordon, then? During Mr West's abortive attempt to release me from my prison cell, he told me to remember your name, saying that I could trust you. How wonderful it is to meet you at last!" She extended a hand and he bowed over it. "But where is Mr West?" she asked.

"Meeting with the king at the moment," he replied. "And you are here for the wedding, I presume, to represent Albania among the many crowned heads of Europe who have come?"

"Oh, more than that, Mr Gordon! I am one of Baroness Mireje's attendants. We were all to come first thing this morning to assist her in preparing for the wedding. And yet…" She frowned in puzzlement. "I think I must have been the first of her bridesmaids to arrive. And what strange behavior on the part of the majordomo! Why would Duzko try to send me away? He knows I'm to be here. And for that matter…" She trailed off, her eyes troubled.

"For that matter?" Artie prompted.

"Well," she sighed, "this morning as I was making ready to come to the palace, my own ladies-in-waiting were all atwitter with rumors about… ah, about the wedding being postponed. I told them they must be mistaken, that if such a thing were true, we would have received an official message from King Stepanko himself, not merely wild stories circulating in the streets. And yet when I arrived here at the palace, I found a scene of confusing chaos, and the majordomo trying to eject me from the palace without explanation! Mr Gordon, please tell me: what is going on? Are the rumors true? What is happening?"

Artie glanced about, then murmured, "Come this way." He offered his arm and steered the princess into a small private room nearby, making sure that no one was trailing them before he closed the door and jammed the back of a chair under the knob to lock it.

…

Expecting to need the aid of an interpreter, Jim slipped the letter from the envelope and unfolded it, only to find to his surprise that this missive was completely in English:

_Your Majesty,_

_Do you care about the lovely baroness' well-being, or do you not? Too many people are speaking too many words, spreading rumors and lies. Bring this to an end! You are the king; tell them all to hold their tongues. If you do not and we hear of it — and rest assured, we __**shall **__hear of it! — you put your beloved's life in jeopardy._

_Remember this: Baroness Mireje's safety depends upon your wise actions as her loving fiancé. Do nothing to bring about any harm to her, and do not permit others to tittle-tattle on about matters that are none of their business!_

"And again, it's unsigned."

"You see now the reason for the announcement I just made, I suppose," said Stepanko.

"Where did this come from?" said Jim.

The king gave a shrug and crossed again to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. "I have no idea, Mr West. I came downstairs from the horror of learning Mireshche was missing, and that envelope was upon the desk. You see there the bits of wax that fell when I snatched it up and opened it."

Yes, there were crumbs of sealing wax on the desk. Jim turned the envelope over and examined it, then scrutinized the letter itself carefully also. "Who has been in here? Who has access to your office?"

Stepanko took a slug of his drink and spread his hands. "That is the curious part, my friend! I do not know who could have come into this room. Duzko has a key, of course, but he was upstairs the entire time I was, and afterwards as well, I think. Other than he…" Again the king lifted his shoulders.

"But someone was here to leave this note. Very recently too."

The king frowned. "Ah?"

"Yes. See here? The ink is smudged a bit. And here is a mark left by the finger that made the smudge: your own thumb." Jim caught the king's hand and showed the man the ink stain that was plainly visible on his right thumb.

Stepanko laughed and gave vent to a word that even James West recognized as a Pterovnian oath. "Amazing, Mr West! Then I myself smudged the letter when I opened it? Indeed, my friend, there is nothing that escapes your attention, I see!"

"Exactly. Nothing, Your Majesty. And there is nothing that will stop or hinder me from finding out exactly what became of Mireje Gorashko."

"Gorashche," the king corrected automatically. "She bears the feminine form of the name. You realize, though," he added, eying Jim West intently, "that there _is _in fact one thing that will stop you from investigating further."

"What is that?"

Stepanko took leisurely sip of his drink before replying. "Me. If I order you to stand down and stop investigating, you will of course obey me."

Jim met the king's eyes steadily. "And why would you ever give me such an order, Your Majesty? Don't you want Mireje found?"

The man gave a sudden chuckle. "Oh, but with all my heart, yes! But these kidnappers! They abscond with my bride in the middle of the night, and now they leave this note upon my very own desk in my very own office, into which they have come by what means? Magic? They are invisible, these kidnappers, omniscient, for they know of talk even I have heard very little of yet. Omnipresent for all I know, able to see what we are doing at every moment. Why," he added, staring suddenly at Jim, "among the kidnappers' number might be anyone here in the palace, even you! So you see," and he nodded at the letter still in Jim's hand, "if they deliver to me another such missive and in it demand that all investigation stop, then all investigation _shall _stop. I cannot in any way risk Mireshche's safety."

"You are a king and this is your country," said Jim, slipping both letter and envelope into his jacket pocket, "but keep in mind that I am an American and not one of your subjects. I may not feel myself bound to obey your every royal decree."

"True, true," Stepanko agreed and sipped his drink again. "But let me remind you, Mr West, that you are my guest, and I have many possible places in which to accommodate your presence. You may, of course, continue to reside in the suite that has been assigned to you and Mr Gordon here in the New Palace. Or failing that, I am sure we can find room for you in the _garizchezí _of the Old Palace instead, my old friend." A little smirk curled the king's lips.

"_Garizchezí _meaning the dungeons, I take it," Jim countered. "Where I'll be roommates with another old friend of yours, with Capt Koloshko?" He saw the liquid in the king's glass slosh by a tiny amount. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll definitely keep that in mind. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more investigating to do." And Jim walked out of the office, right past Capt Andreshko just outside the door.

…

As Princess Gina Carlotta turned her lovely young face towards him expectantly, Artie took her hand. "I will tell you what's going on, Your Highness," he said, "but you must keep in mind that the king himself has ordered that no news be given out except that the wedding has been delayed, so whatever I tell you, you must keep it in complete confidence."

She nodded. "I understand."

"The reason the wedding won't take place today is that Baroness Mireje has disappeared."

"Dis… disappeared! But what do you mean? Where is she?" Suddenly, eyes widening with horror, Gina Carlotta's hand clutched at her throat. "Oh no! No, has she been kidnapped as I was? Oh, but… but surely _her _brother is not the same sort of man as mine!"

"No, no, not hardly," Artemus assured her.

"Is a ransom demanded?"

"Yes," said Artie, "but don't worry about that. King Stepanko is handling everything." Or _not _handling everything, he just barely managed not to say.

"But how terrible! I must speak to His Highness and assure him that Albania stands by Pterovnia in this hour of distress. If he has need of anything — anything! — we will surely supply it!"

"That's very kind of you, Highness, but remember: you're not even supposed to know. What the king wants most is for everyone to keep the events to themselves in, uh…" Thinking quickly, Artie spun a small lie for her. "…in the hopes that the culprits will give themselves away by knowing too much."

"Oh. Oh, yes, that makes sense. Yes, I will keep quiet. Oh, but I wonder…" A troubled look crept into her eyes.

"You wonder what, Highness?" Artie asked quickly.

"Oh… Perhaps it is nothing. Our embassy is on the edge of the old city, and my window looks out over the surrounding open fields. Last night I heard a sound, or thought I did. The sound of a horse being ridden away across the fields. It must have been well past midnight when this occurred."

"_A _horse? Just one?"

She gave it some thought. "Yes. Yes, only one horse. Which means it must have had nothing to do with the kidnapping, yes? For there would have been at least two horses, would there not? One for the kidnapper and one for the baroness." She frowned. "Or else a carriage or some other conveyance in which to spirit her away, such as I was transported in during…" She gave a shudder, followed by an embarrassed smile. "Oh, but I have no wish to dredge up weary memories of my own ordeal. Poor Mireje! I should go and see Lady Anje at least. She must be frantic with worry, and surely she will not tattle on me to the king that I have cajoled the truth out of you. But thank you so much for confiding in me, Mr Gordon! I will be careful not to, ah, spill the beans on you. _Au revoir_, my new friend!" She offered her hand to Artie once more, and as soon as he had removed the chair from under the doorknob, she hurried off through the corridors of the palace to find Lady Anje.

More updates to tell Jim, Artie thought as he put the chair away. He set off to find the king's office.

…

Milling crowds wandered the halls of the National Museum, apparently whiling away the time until they would know more clearly whether there would be a royal wedding today or not. Jim heard plenty of rumors new and old as he made his way through the exhibits, getting an idea of the layout of the Old Palace, paying particular attention to the positions and movements of the guards.

Eventually he came across a room displaying a collection of beautiful antiques vases, the walls lined with magnificent tapestries. And in one wall of this room was a door constructed of large, heavy wooden beams. Beside the door was mounted a sign bearing a message written solely in Pterovnian. Jim studied it briefly, noting the word _garizchezí_, which he recognized from his recent conversation with the king: dungeons. Which meant he'd found the right place. Curiously, the lower half of the sign read "1 _Krufko_."

Money? Jim wondered. Something about the dungeons cost money? Was it possible that they sold tours of the dungeons?

Well, what Jim had in mind was a private meeting with a certain resident of the _garizchezí_, not a conversation held while a gaggle of tourists looked on. After a quick glance around to assure himself that he was alone, Jim slipped the lock pick from its little pocket under his lapel and made short work of the lock. Once that was done, he dragged open the door and disappeared through it into the drafty, musty stairwell beyond.

No sooner was the door shut behind James West than a somewhat scruffy-looking man in a mud-splotched green coat peeked out from behind one of the tapestries. "Ah, the blue-eyed American — he has blocked himself in!" he snickered to himself, then reached for the curtains of the nearest window to close and open them again three times.

**End of Act Two**


	10. Act Three, Part One

**Act Three, Part One**

Artie was sure he'd passed the same suit of armor three times now. "Place is like a labyrinth," he muttered to himself. "I shoulda asked directions. Or tied a string to a doorknob somewhere to find my way back." He turned a corner.

"Ah, Mr Gordon!" Capt Andreshko was just coming along the next corridor, heading his way. He smiled and glanced at the corner, his smile quickly fading. "Is… is not Mr West with you?"

"No, I was searching for the king's office to speak with Jim. He's not there?"

"He left some time ago," the young officer replied. "But I am confused! I heard your voice just now, and thought you must be talking to your friend."

"No, I was talking to myself. Don't you ever talk to yourself?"

From the stare Dreshko gave him in reply, Artie could easily guess the answer.

"Well, never mind all that. When did you last see Jim, and where was he going?"

Dreshko consulted his pocket watch. "It must have been, oh, at least a quarter hour ago when Mr West left the king's office. Where he was going, he did not say."

Artie gave it a moment's thought, the tip of his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth. "You say you saw him leaving the king's office? Would you happen to know what the two of them had been talking about?"

Dreshko's eyes popped wide. "Mr Gordon! Of course I would never eavesdrop on His Majesty's conversations!"

"No? Well, give it some time, kiddo, just give it some time."

"Are you…" The young fellow's voice dropped conspiratorially. "Are you saying that _you _would eavesdrop on conversations when you are assigned to guard the door?"

"Dreshko my boy, sometimes the only way to learn what you need to learn to keep your boss safe is to make sure you know as much as he knows, and then some. C'mon. Lead me to the king's office; I need to find out what he told Jim."

…

At the bottom of the stairs Jim found a small dank room, its walls built of large, gray, rough-hewn stones. The numerous torches in their sconces on the walls gave forth only a sickly yellow light. Standing off to one side was a table upon which lay a great number of closed cloth bags. There was another heavy wooden door like the one at the top of the stairs in the wall opposite the stairwell. This door had a small barred window at the average height for a guard to peek through it, and was, of course, locked.

Jim had his lock pick in hand about to remedy that when he heard a clatter from the door above, followed by voices and the sounds of many footfalls. A throng of people were coming down the stairs — likely one of those tour groups! With a quick glance around the room, Jim dove for the only bit of cover in sight. He disappeared into the darkness beneath the table just as the first of the newcomers entered the room.

…

"Mr West?" The king shrugged. "I do not know where he has gone. He was quite rude to me during our conversation."

Artie's eyes flicked to the king's face. It wasn't Jim's habit to be rude for no reason; if he had been pressing the king's buttons, it was obviously to see what sort of reaction he would get.

Artie chose a different tack. "Well, that's my boy, all right. You know, there's a reason why so many people take such an instant liking to him that they want to beat him to a pulp. I find it hard to believe though, Your Majesty, that he would be rude to _you_. What happened? Did he, oh, sample your family vineyards' finest claret and spit it out, saying it tasted like vinegar?"

Andreshko's face went pale, but the king merely chuckled. "Oh, nothing so extreme as all that, Mr Gordon. I showed him the letter I had found on my desk, the letter by which the kidnappers directed me to quash all spreading of rumors about Mireshche's disappearance."

Artie's eyebrows soared. "There was a letter? May I see it?"

"I would give it to you, but Mr West took it with him when he left."

"What did it say? When did you find it? How did it come to be here?"

The king poured himself another glass of wine, offered one to Mr Gordon, then returned to his desk and spun out the same story for this American as he had told to the other — yes, including the possibility of ordering them to stop the investigation, and the consequences if they did not.

…

The noise increased in the small anteroom to the dungeons below the Old Palace. Jim peeked out from his hiding place under the table to see a group of perhaps a couple dozen people, mostly native Pterovnians by the look of them, led by a fellow with an air of great self-importance who wore a plumed hat upon his head and plenty of gold braids looping from the epaulets of his tunic. The splendidly-attired guard, carrying a lit lantern in hand, called out orders to the others, prodding them into a rough line. He then crossed the room to the table and set his lantern upon it before barking out another order. One by one, the Pterovnians shuffled forward, then returned to their places in the line. Jim could hear a clinking sound — coins? — and another sound that was hard to identify, but what was actually happening above his head, he was at a loss to understand.

This was a time, he thought, when he really needed Artie here to translate.

"Oh, I say!" came a voice suddenly, blessedly in English. In fact, very, _very _English. "What are we doing then? What are those bags upon the table? Two _krufkozí_ a bag, you say? What are we buying, souvenirs? Bit pricey, I'll be bound. Why, they cost twice as much as the price of admission!"

Jim's brows knitted. That couldn't be Artie, could it? What would his partner be doing here? Jim thought about sneaking a peek to see who the fellow was, but considering that the man was practically standing on top of him, Jim knew that at the moment, all he would get would be a prime view of a pair of shoes.

"I must say, though," the British voice went on, "thriving little business you've got here. What are you trafficking in: souls?"

The guard, in a voice so unctuous it was practically dripping, responded with, "I must beg your pardon, friend _Ingleshko_. I did not realize there would be present anyone who does not understand Pterovnian. Here, take up a bag and examine the merchandise I am selling."

There came a rustling sound, then, "A rock. You are selling rocks. Rocks of… yes, of the same material as the walls. Then you _are _selling souvenirs!"

"Oh, even better than that, my friend! I am selling entertainment!" said the guard. "There in the dungeons which you have paid your _krufko _to view, my friend, are ensconced the most dreadful specimens of human vermin Pterovnia has to offer — included the most hated man of all, the Traitor. We guards, we merely provide to the people the means by which they may do what they long to do."

"Rocks."

"Precisely."

"To lob at the prisoners?"

"But of course! You are very clever, my friend — for an _Ingleshko_."

"Ah? And you are exceptionally genteel — for a guardsman."

The guard's voice snapped with rancor. "Buy or do not buy!" he growled. "The tour is about to begin."

"Buy rocks to throw at caged men?" said the Brit. "Don't be ridiculous! I'll take two bags." The requisite coins clinked onto the table above Jim's head.

The transaction at last complete, the British fellow resumed his place in line, happily burbling to himself about his new acquisitions. Now the guard left the table as well and crossed to the heavy wooden door to unlock it with a large iron key. He threw open the door, herded his charges through, and locked the door again behind them all.

Barely a minute later the door opened once more to admit a slim figure in blue. Then it closed again, leaving the dank little anteroom empty.

…

Artie left his interview with the king feeling both thoughtful and annoyed. Thoughtful as he pondered how that letter had come to be on the king's desk; annoyed as he replayed the king's nonchalant attitude towards stopping the investigation. "What reason would you have to continue anyway?" Stepanko had said at the last. "In three days I pay the ransom, and the kidnappers will then keep their part of the bargain, will they not? Besides," and here he had tossed off a bit of his wine, "in three days you and Mr West may well have left Pterovnia already to return to your homeland. Many things may happen in the course of three days."

"Yes, and one of those things might well be that the kidnappers will decide they no longer need to keep Mireje alive!" Artie had growled in reply, only to have the king shake his head and wag a finger at him.

"No, no," said Stepanko. "Of one thing I am absolute certain, and that is that they will never ever lay a hand of violence upon Mireshche. She is of too much…" He considered. "…too much _importance _to them. No harm will come to her. Of this I am convinced."

"He knows something," Artie muttered to himself as he stalked through the halls of the palace, glancing into one room after another, searching for his partner. "Stepanko knows a lot more than he's saying. I sure would like to get my hands on that second letter and see what I can read between the lines of it! But Jim's got the letter and — consarn it! Where _is _Jim?"

…

A shadow clad in blue flitted through the dungeons, following after the tour group — if indeed "tour group" was the proper term for them. To describe that bunch as a circus would have been to unfairly disparage every circus that had ever been — although, truth to tell, there were plenty of folks down in that subterranean Utopia who would qualify as clowns, and more of them outside the bars than in. It would perhaps be more accurate to characterize it as a trip through an insane asylum, especially with the stipulation that those in the halls were more crazed than those in the cells.

After unlocking the door and letting all the tourists in, the guard had herded them down one corridor and up the next, pausing each time he reached a cell to intone a few phrases in Pterovnian. He would then begin to say something in English as well for the benefit of the British sightseer, presumably announcing the prisoner's name and crime, but neither of the Anglophones in his audience could ever be quite sure, for neither one ever got to hear the entire translation. As soon as the Pterovnian part was complete, the tourists would howl with indignation, dig into their two-_krufkozí_ bags of rocks, and start pelting the unfortunate prisoner inside the cell with the stones. Some of the prisoners yelped and tried to fend off the barrage, some ran to the far wall in hopes of avoiding the attack, others into the corners of the cell nearest the door, only to find that the more persistent rock-throwers would press up against the bars and stick their arms inside the cell to lob their projectiles.

Some of the prisoners, perhaps taking inspiration from their brazen attackers, actually ran _towards _the cell doors and thrust their arms out through the iron bars, snarling and raging in an apparent effort to frighten their tormentors away.

And then there were some who simply sat where they were and took it, paying the rock-throwers no more attention than they might a few beetles running over their feet. No doubt these were the old-timers here, those who had long since tried all the other reactions before settling on the tactic of pretending the tourists and their rocks didn't even exist.

Onwards through the dungeons the guard led his little flock, never noticing the stealthy figure that was shadowing them. On the guard and his group went, and if the prisoners caught sight of the man slipping along at the tail end after the rest, they showed not the least bit of interest in the one man who threw no rocks.

Or… nearly none of the prisoners paid Jim any heed. The first exception to this rule was the man who waited till the guard and his gaggle moved on, then pounced upon a large rock with which one of the tourists had pelted him. As Jim passed by that cell, he saw to his surprise that this prisoner was pressing that rock to his lips — yes, not only that, but he stuck the suspiciously smooth rock into his mouth and took a bite.

Hmm! So one of the rock-throwers had smuggling in a piece of food and tossed it to this man! Interesting.

The prisoner must have felt eyes on him, for he whipped around suddenly, hiding the hunk of food — whether it was bread or meat, Jim couldn't tell — behind his back. He stared at Jim for a long moment, then ventured a watery smile, followed by a wink and the press of a finger against his lips.

Jim replied with a smile and a wink of his own, then moved on.

And now the tourists had reached the culmination of their journey, the cell which held the final and most notorious of the denizens of these dungeons. Jim barely heard the guard pronounce the name of Koloshko before his voice was drowned out by howls and jeers, along with thuds and crashes from the impacts of stones against the walls and floors.

Not to mention, against human flesh.

Jim slipped up on the final corner and made a clandestine survey of the group. The stone-throwing was certainly in full swing. The Brit, Jim noted, had just emptied out his first bag of rocks and tossed it aside before opening the other. Jim scrutinized him carefully, taking in the man's close-cropped blond hair and upward-curving waxed moustaches, his lack of height and even more so of girth. No, Jim decided, even if Artie were to throw himself so deeply into character as to cast stones at caged prisoners, and even though he'd often demonstrated the ability to somehow make himself seem a foot or so shorter than his real height, Jim knew for sure that Artie would never be able to disguise himself as such a skinny man as the Brit here before him. A thicker-set man, yes; he'd done that many times. But to make himself look that scrawny? No, Artie could never pull that off, not without going on a strict diet for many weeks beforehand.

So this wasn't Artie after all. That was a pity, since it wasn't impossible that Jim might find himself in need of his partner's back-up. No doubt this British fellow was part of his nation's delegation to the royal wedding, frittering away his hours like so many others, waiting to hear if the wedding was on or not.

The guard clapped his hands and called out something in Pterovnian, then added, "This ends the tour. We will now go back the way we came."

Jim jumped back from the corner and glanced over his shoulder at the long corridor behind him. He'd never make it around the far corner and out of sight before the first pair of eyes could spot him! Quickly he looked around, searching for somewhere, anywhere, to conceal himself before he could be caught here where he didn't belong.

Ah! Of course, that would do. That would be perfect.

…

Artie sighed. Well, he hadn't really expected to find Jim in their rooms, and his expectation had proved to be correct. He exited the suite, and stood for a moment thumping a finger against his nose, thinking. Since Jim wasn't here, then where else could he possibly…?

"Ah, you are back!" came a voice.

Artie glanced up to see the beaming figure of Dr Rodin.

"_Pardonnez-moi_," Artie replied, eying the little Frenchman quizzically, "but 'back'?"

"_Mais oui! _From your excursion to the National Museum, _bien sûr_."

Excursion? What was the fellow talking about? Even more puzzled, Artie asked, "What, ah, what gave you the idea that I had gone to the museum, _m'sieur le docteur?"_

Rodin gave a Gallic shrug. "_Pardonnez-moi_. Then you did not accompany _M'sieur _West on his passage to the Old Palace?"

Old Palace! Artie just barely restrained himself from snapping his fingers. "So Jim went to the Old Palace!"

"Indeed, it was perhaps, _euh_, an hour or so back that I encountered _M'sieur _West in the main hall. He was striding toward the front door when he inquired of me whether I knew if the museum would be open. I presumed — incorrectly, obviously! — that you were to accompany him there. My mistake!"

"_Merci beaucoup, m'sieur le docteur_. I must have missed him. I shall make my own passage to the museum then. _Au revoir_." Artie made a respectful nod towards the Frenchman. Then, with a smile on his face at having at last gotten his lead on his partner's whereabouts, Artie ducked back into the suite to get his hat — and, he decided, a few surprises as well, just in case.

…

The guard and his gaggle of tourists rounded the corner and marched off down the corridor for the exit. By the flickering light of the torches along the walls and the lantern in the guard's hand, nobody even noticed what was in the shadows above their heads.

Soon the heavy door was opened, then locked again after everyone was out. Only then did a spread-eagled blue shadow swing down out of the rafters to land lightly in the corridor. With a glance about, Jim West hurried off around the nearer corner.

This was a much older-looking man, the prisoner in the final cell. Three years of captivity had not been kind to him. He sported a waist-long beard now that was liberally streaked with gray. He was sitting on his bunk idly plaiting small braids into the end of his beard, his eyes locked upon that self-imposed task.

"Capt Koloshko!" came a furtive voice from the door.

If Koloshko heard, he gave no sign of it. His hands never paused in the endless rhythm of folding the left-hand strand over the middle, followed by the right-hand strand, again and again and again…

"Koloshko!"

Still no response. Obviously the Traitor was firmly in the ignore-them-till-they-go-away camp.

"Koloshko, I know you can hear me," said Jim tenaciously. "I find it hard to believe that a man like you, a man who loves his king as you do, would have any part in this plot against him!"

That woke the prisoner up. Slowly, a frown gradually creasing his forehead, Koloshko turned to look at the cell door.

And now he stared, stunned. "M… Mister West?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, James West. You remember me."

Koloshko's face split into a grin. "Indeed, how could I ever forget you? You rescued me after the baroness betrayed me, and it was because you vouched for me, I have no doubt, that I am here today and alive, having escaped the fate that befell my, ah, former associates."

Jim clutched the bars of the cell door, and leaned forward, his blue eyes gleaming. "And yet you repay King Stepanko's mercy by conspiring against him once again."

"I… What?" Confusion furrowed his brow once more, but only for a moment. "Ah!" he said, and glanced up at the tiny barred window set high in his cell wall, admitting barely any of the noontime sun. "Then it has happened."

It was as much as an admission of guilt, and it infuriated Jim. "Yes, it's happened! Your little game has thrown the whole palace into a panic, and nobody knows what's become of her. Who helped you, and where have they taken her?"

Koloshko tipped his head, frowning. "Her… her… I…" Abruptly his face changed, his eyes becoming hooded. He lifted his head obstinately. "I can tell you nothing."

Jim shook the bars. "Don't tempt me to come in there and throttle the truth out of you, Koloshko! Up until this moment I liked you and thought you were a decent man. But no man of decency pulls a stunt like this. Where is she?"

Koloshko regarded Jim for a long moment, then turned back to his weaving.

"Koloshko!"

The Traitor shook his head. "I can tell you nothing. But… the king. He sent you to me?"

"He doesn't know I'm here."

"Then it is not he who suspects my… collusion."

"I didn't suspect you either, until just now."

"No?" The prisoner turned and regarded Jim in puzzlement. "Then why are you here?"

"I needed a lead. I hoped you could help me."

The prisoner's shoulders lifted, then fell. "What lead would I have for you, stuck as I am here within the _garizchezí_?" He shook his head. "No, my old friend, I have nothing for you. I can tell you nothing."

Jim stared at Koloshko, glared at him, striving to quell the anger rising within him. "So you'll just sit there, braiding your beard and doing nothing, while your confederates spirit off that girl, taking her who-knows-where to do who-knows-what to her."

Again Koloshko's eyes flicked to the window, but he said nothing.

Jim let out an angry snort. "I just hope you can live with yourself!" he growled and stalked away, leaving the prisoner sitting on his bunk. At last, unseen by the departed Mr West, Koloshko left off his braiding to drop his face into his hand.

Jim, still angry, reached the heavy door and swiftly picked the lock. He then bounded up the wide stone stairway and was about to pick the lock of the door at the top as well when he paused and cocked an ear towards the door. Hmm.

Nearly soundlessly he finished picking the lock, then lifted a foot and kicked the great wooden door open so hard it bounced off the wall beyond it. There was a groan as the man who had been hiding on that side of the door sagged into unconsciousness.

The other half-dozen men lurking in the room of vases and tapestries charged towards West. Jim held his ground and waited for the first one to reach the doorway, then grabbed him and pitched him down the stairs. He landed with a crash, yet made a valiant effort to rise up again before crumpling into a heap on the anteroom floor.

A second man charged for the door, his arms spread wide to engulf West. Jim ducked under his arms and let him sail on by. That man fell all the way down the stairs without hitting a one of them only to smash into the table in the anteroom. It instantly collapsed under him, sending the remaining bags of rocks raining down onto his head.

Three down already, and two of them literally.

Two more attackers rushed the door now and strove mightily to seize their quarry, grappling with Jim, trying to yank him out into the room of vases. Jim clipped one of them with a karate chop to the neck, dropping him to the floor. At that moment the other took advantage to seize Jim in a bear hug round the waist, succeeding at last in hauling him out of the doorway. Jim and his opponent landed hard in the middle of the floor, and the remaining pair of thugs piled on as well, pinning Jim down.

Or so they thought. Suddenly Jim surged up from under them like a geyser erupting, sending all three flying in different directions. One crashed right into the largest vase on display, smashing it into a million pieces. The second went windmilling backwards into one of the walls, knocking loose an enormous tapestry. It tumbled down, engulfing him.

Only the third thug managed to avoid getting knocked out of the fight. With a snarl he charged at the irritating American.

Jim caught the man by the collar and fell backwards, carrying his attacker with him. A moment later Jim's foot drove into his opponent's middle, kicking the wind out of him and sending him winging over Jim's head to crash head first into a vase that had only moments before been promoted to largest in the room, and was now demoted like the previous largest vase to the status of a million smithereens.

The man who had destroyed it pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, trying to get up, and then utterly failing.

Jim, breathing hard, looked around, dusted off his hands and his clothes, and started to leave. He was met at the door, however, by yet another pair of thugs. These two took in the unconscious forms of their companions, then one of the new fellows turned to the other and growled out something in Pterovnian. With a nod the other snatched forth a cruel-looking dagger from his boot and lunged at Jim. Jim dodged and aimed a kick at the man's hand to deprive him of the knife.

"No!" came a voice from the next room. "No, no! _Njede! _No weapons! Your boss does not wish him harmed!" The voice was familiar, and Jim spared a glance toward the doorway, then backed up so as to keep an eye on his two attackers as well as on the latest newcomer all at the same time.

The man who now entered the room was, of all people, the Brit, and looking at the Englishman now, Jim wondered that he had ever imagined there was any resemblance between this cold-eyed man and Artemus Gordon.

The Brit smiled. "You _will _come with us quietly, I trust, Mr West," he said. "Bullet holes in that fine suit of yours would a great pity. But not so great a pity as to prevent me from shooting, let me be clear." And at this point the Brit leveled his own gun at Jim, adding, "Shall we go?"

Jim didn't waste time considering. If allowing himself to be captured would bring him one step closer to finding Mireje's kidnappers, then that was what he would do. With the last two goons flanking him and the Brit with the gun behind, Jim West was escorted from the Old Palace by way of the sally port around back.


	11. Act Three, Part Two

**Act Three, Part Two**

Well, this was just ducky. After heading out from the New Palace, Artie had hoped to hail a carriage, only to find that the area in front of the king's residence was thickly thronged with people, people, people. It was all but impossible to thread his way through them, not with all of them pressing forward towards the gates. The clamor was oppressive too, with voices raised all around him, crying out to know what was going on, or else bewailing the death of the baroness, or the king's broken foot, or the sudden illness that had befallen all the inhabitants of the palace, or the appearance of the ghost of the king's father or mother or grandfather or great-aunt or an ancestor from the dim and misty past, come to proclaim _DOOOOOOM, DOOOOOOM _upon this marriage, _DOOOOOOM _upon the city, upon the nation!

"Doom, doom, doom," muttered Artie. "All I want is a cab!"

Finally, much to his relief and a little to his surprise, Artemus broke through the mob and was able to hare off around a corner and at last find a carriage. "The Old Palace, please," he told the driver, then leaned back in his seat and glanced at his watch. Another half an hour gone by, wasted! Well, he should be able to catch up with Jim shortly so they could compare notes. He wondered what Jim had learned, and how everything would add up together in the end. And where and how Baroness Mireje was. That was the most important thing.

He was so wrapped up in his musings that he didn't notice the small ragged boy who hopped up onto the boot of the carriage to hitch a ride along with him. From his pocket the kid produced an apple and took a big bite.

…

Jim hadn't been surprised when his captors blindfolded him after stuffing him into a carriage. The ride had not been long, and he had quietly committed to memory the turnings they took along with a rough estimate of the distances between the turnings. Then the carriage stopped and they hauled him down a set of stairs and in through a door. Even within this building, whatever it was, the blindfold was kept in place, so Jim set about counting steps and memorizing turnings again. At length they entered another door, and at last the blindfold was torn from his head.

The room they were now in looked like the inside of a warehouse. Stacks of boxes obscured the view of the walls. The boxes bore labels, many of them, as far as Jim knew, in Pterovnian, but some few were in English, and of these, one caught Jim's attention right away: it was labeled "TNT."

Men were in the warehouse, moving things around, packing or unpacking things. One in particular looked up and saw the man in blue with his escorts. He wiped his hands off with a bright red bandanna, then shoved the cloth back into his pocket and walked towards the newcomers. As he drew closer, a smile lit his face. "Ah, good! Mr West, you have come!"

For his part, Jim also recognized the man who was approaching. "Niko. Niko the miner. I remember you from the bowels of the West Coast Consulate. How are your parents?"

Niko grasped Jim's hand in a firm grip. "Doing well. _Vachko _— you remember that means Father, do you not? — is to preach the wedding today. Or was to. I am glad to see you! We have much to discuss."

Jim cocked an eyebrow at him. "We do?"

Niko hesitated. "Well, yes, of course. That is why I sent… Ichko? You did not tell Mr West why he was invited here?" He looked beyond Jim to the Brit.

The man smiled. "It must have slipped my mind."

Niko held his gaze on the Brit for a moment longer, then pasted on a smile. "Never mind. It does not matter. What does matter is that you are here, Mr West. Come, sit." He waved towards a door, then led the way.

Within was an office, sparsely furnished. Niko took the chair behind the desk and nodded to the only other seat. "Please, sit," he said. "Ichko, we are not to be disturbed," he said to the Brit.

"Of course, Boss." The Brit spoke a few words to the pair of men who had aided him in retrieving Mr West, then shut the door and leaned against it, guarding it from within.

"I am afraid we have little in the way of amenities here," Niko apologized. "This is a working mine, not a diplomatic house of any stripe. And yet…"

That might explain the presence of TNT, Jim thought. "And yet?" he prompted.

"And yet it must serve as a… a consulate in a way. I apologize that Ichko said nothing to you of my reason for wishing to speak with you." Niko's eyes flicked to the man at the door.

"Perhaps you should know," said Jim evenly, "that he hauled me in here at gunpoint."

Niko opened his mouth and shot a glare at Ichko, who returned the stare unblinkingly. Then Niko sat back, shaking his head, withdrawing from the staring contest. "I should not be surprised. Ichko is very fond of the grand gestures. He is my right-hand man, but we do not always agree on methods. But you are not hurt, I trust, Mr West?"

It was as Ichko had said: the Boss did not want James West to be harmed. "Only a little bruising around the edges of my honor. Why did you want to speak to me?" As with Capt Koloshko, so with Niko: Jim had liked these men when he'd met them before; it would be a great disillusionment to find that either was behind this plot to kidnap Mireje!

"Mr West…" Niko began to speak, then closed his mouth again. Twice more he did the same, then came to his feet and began to pace, running his fingers through his hair. "It is funny, you see. I have rehearsed this speech to myself time and again, only now that I must deliver it, I am at a loss as to what to say!"

From the door Ichko spoke up. "Niko wants the help of the United States to overthrow the king of Pterovnia," he said curtly.

Jim whirled to look at him, then back at Niko. "You want what?"

Niko smiled painfully. "Another of Ichko's grand gestures, and a very blunt one at that. But, yes, that is the gist of it. We wish to throw off the shackles of a monarchy and become a democratic nation such as the United States. And we wish you to make our petition before your president."

Jim stared at him. "I was under the impression that Stepanko is a progressive king. He's brought the railroad into your nation, along with all these new building projects here in the capital. I believe I heard that Lyuko is now twice its previous size."

The young miner nodded, "Yes, yes, all this is true. Pterovnia is a wonderful country, do not get me wrong. We have much to be thankful for, and the recent changes have been mostly for the better. But there is so much more that could be done! If we were but a _free _people, no longer shackled to the old ways, no longer ruled by the hereditary nobility of the past, but able to choose our _own _leaders, to make our _own _ways. To be… ah, in short, to be what the United States has become, a nation of _free _men, each with the potential to become whatever he pleases! No more having to follow lockstep in the footprints of one's ancestors, toiling in the same work generation after generation! Able to choose what…!"

"Excuse me, Niko," Jim cut in, "but I might point out that you are a miner, yet your father is an Orthodox priest. You certainly didn't have to follow lockstep in his footprints."

Niko paused, then nodded. "_Dasda, dasda_, yes, that is true. But I am an exception to the general rule. For too many of our people, the son of a farmer has no choice but to be a farmer like all his fathers before him, and that often on a piece of land they have worked for generations, yet the land belongs to some nobleman who wouldn't know a, a…" He waved a hand in the air. "…a hoe from a turnip!"

Jim gave a sigh. "And you expect me to ask Pres Grant to help your little band of revolutionaries to kick Stepanko out on his royal keister, is that it?"

Niko broke out into an eager grin. "Yes! Yes, that is it precisely! After all, did not the United States break free from the chains of the king of England? Fervor for freedom and for an end to hereditary nobility has been fomenting here in Europe for two generations now! In another two generations — mark my words! — there will not be a crowned head left in all this Continent. _All _will be replaced by constitutional governments, by democracies!"

Niko was pacing again, his hands waving in the air. "And this, Mr West, will bring an end at last to war and to suffering, for democratically elected leaders will naturally do the will of their people! Let me put forth an example: the, ah… let me think… Ah! The Kaiser of Germany. He is an emperor and answerable to no one, is this not true? And he may well lead his people into war — yes, even war against all of Germany's neighbors round about her! But a democratically elected, er…" The young man snapped his fingers, thinking. "Oh, what is the German word for leader? I have forgotten… Ah, yes! I have it now: _Fuhrer! _A democratically elected _Fuhrer _of Germany would never dare to start a war with her neighbors, knowing that his people would rebel first, and rightly so. Do you see?"

Again Jim sighed. "Niko, do you really believe democratically elected leaders never start wars? Haven't you ever heard of President Polk, who provoked our neighbor Mexico into a war in 1846?"

Niko shook his head. "No, no, that was not Polk's doing. That resulted from the act of the general in Texas who led his men into the disputed territory." Again he snapped his fingers to help him remember. "A general named… Yes, Taylor! Zachary Taylor, who later became… Oh."

"Right," said Jim. "Who later became president himself. And there's another detail of history you seem to be ignoring: the French Revolution."

Niko said nothing, his face fallen.

"The United States, as you may recall," Jim went on, "did not help France with her bloody revolution in 1789, and it's highly unlikely that my government will reverse that policy now."

From the door Ichko put in quietly, "Your nation does not need to send us troops overtly. A few well-chosen men — one man alone, even, provided he is a man whom King Stepanko trusts — could easily slip into the New Palace, ask for a private audience with the king and then, ah…" The man smirked. "…_remove _the monarch very discreetly."

Niko turned a glare toward his right-hand man. "We have discussed this before, Ichko! I have no animosity toward King Stepanko personally. He is merely a product of the old, withering hierarchy, happily indulging in his building projects, blithely marrying the daughter of one of his worst enemies, commuting the death sentence for treason of another enemy. He has a certain amount of regard for the oppressed of his people, in that he paid the expenses of the enslaved miners who wished to return home from the United States. I was one of those miners, and for that reason — and how many times must I repeat it? — I will not have Stepanko killed!" Again he fixed Ichko with a glower, and again the man returned the gaze unblinkingly.

And again Niko broke off the staring contest first. "The king is not to be killed," he reiterated, then returned his attention to Mr West. "This is our request, my old friend. Will you do this for us? Will you speak to your president, a man whom you know well, and plead for us our case before him? We only desire what your own people already enjoy: a democratic nation."

Jim drew a long breath and stood to his feet. "I've already given you my answer, Niko. There's no point in even bringing the matter up to Pres Grant. I can tell you what his answer will be right now, and in fact I already _have _told you: the answer will be 'No.' "

Slowly Niko nodded, his disappointment showing plainly on his face. "I see," he said at last. "That being the case…" He turned to his aide. "Ichko, take Mr West away and lock him up in the cell we have prepared for him."

Jim shot Niko a look askance. "You've prepared a cell for me?"

Glumly Niko nodded. "Oh, yes. I feared you might need some persuading. Into that cell you shall go, and you will not be released from it until you have agreed to carry our petition before your president."

With a grin, the Brit opened the door and called for the two thugs who had helped to bring James West into this place from which he now might never depart.

…

At last! Artie bounded from the carriage and tossed the driver a coin along with a polite thank you of "_Kedurshte djo._" He then turned and headed for the main gate of the Old Palace.

And just before he reached it, the great gate suddenly swung shut, practically in his face. From within the gate he heard the ponderous sound of a great key being turned.

"Hey!" called Artie. "Hey, what are you doing? Let me in!" He hammered on the small wicket door within the huge gate.

A tiny peephole door within the wicket door opened and a man's face peered out at him. "We're closed."

"Closed! But… but my friend is in there. We were supposed to meet here."

The face shook back and forth. "No one is here anymore. The museum is closing early today. For the royal wedding, you see."

"But there's not going to be a royal wedding today!" Artie persisted.

Though he could only see a face, Artie could tell that the man shrugged. "That is none of my concern. I was told to send everyone home early and close at this time of day because of the king's wedding. Whether there is a wedding today or not, the museum is closed." With that the man slammed the peephole shut.

"But…!" Artie said again, only to hear the man inside the gate call out a firm farewell of, "_Atuchejnte djo!_"

A moment later the peephole cracked open again. "You want to step back," the man advised Artie. "I'm about to ring down the portcullis."

The port… Oh! Hastily Artie backpedaled from the gate, just in time as the heavy iron grating came hurtling down to seal off the Old Palace from all that was outside.

"What am I gonna do now?" Artie muttered. "I still haven't found Jim!"

From near his elbow he heard the crunch of someone biting into an apple, followed by a young voice piping up in Pterovnian with, "Well, there's always the sally port."


	12. Act Three, Part Three

**Act Three, Part Three**

Sally port! Artie snapped his fingers. "Of course! The sally port! Hey, that's not a bad idea at all, and…" He glanced in the direction of the voice he'd heard and did a double-take. "Wait a minute! I recognize you; you're that kid who's been following me all over town! Who are you, anyway?"

Eyes wide, the boy backed up a step, hastily swallowed his bite of apple, and proclaimed, "_Teshnante djo, merinko, njede porlante ingleshko_."

"Oh no, you don't!" Artie replied with a snort. "You're not getting away with that 'Sorry, mister, I don't speak English' ploy, kid. We're speaking in Pterovnian! Now, who are you and why have you been following me around? I saw you with your apple outside that chemist's shop earlier today and... Hey! Get back here!"

The kid paid him no heed though, and pelted off down the street. Naturally Artie gave chase, but it was no use. Between the kid's head start, younger legs, and better knowledge of the byways of Lyuko, Artie was soon left panting in the street, his quarry long gone.

"Great!" he muttered to himself. "A lead, and I lost him! I wonder who little Apples there is working for? Still," Artie mused, "his idea about the sally port was a good one... provided I can locate the Old Palace again."

He rested for a minute or two, hands on his knees to catch his breath, then set out to find his way back.

…

Having shaken off his pursuer, Apples charged down one alley and up another until he found what he was looking for: the man in the muddy green coat. Winded but pleased with himself, the boy reported, "The American I have been following is at the Old Palace! He believes his friend is inside. Now our men can capture the blue-eyed American!"

"The blue-eyed American has been taken already," the man replied brusquely. "Our work here is done. Come!" And the pair slipped away to disappear into the depths of the city.

…

It took Artie a while to find the hidden back door to the Old Palace, but once he located it, he made very short work of the lock and was soon inside. The sally port, as it turned out, gave onto a passageway that angled to the right along the interior of the castle's curtain wall, then downwards underground. Artie pulled out a handheld reusable torch he'd invented, lit it, and set out exploring.

The passageway was inevitably dank and spooky, with a few obligatory skeletons chained to the walls here and there just to provide the proper ambience. Artie shuddered and moved along briskly. "Couldn't just open into the wine cellar, now could it?" he grumbled.

Shortly he came to a dead end, but knowing it wasn't likely that the original builders would have gone to all the trouble of putting in this underground passage for it to lead nowhere, he studied the wall before him carefully, touching anything and everything, searching for a… Aha!

"Hello, latch for the secret door!" he murmured smugly. The wall clicked open and he peered within.

To find the wine cellar! Again he congratulated himself, although a swift perusal informed him that only the most worthless wines had been left behind when the king had moved into his new palace. "Oh, well," Artie muttered philosophically. "Suppose vinegar has to come from _some_where…" He found the exit and moved on in his search for Jim.

…

Jim woke to iron bars and a pounding head, along with a rather dim recollection of how either had come about. Hmm... Ah, yes. There had been Niko and his grand plans for revolution... His order to incarcerate Jim... The Brit — improbably named Ichko — with his minions... And, yes, there had been a fight.

That too was dim in his recollection. The two minions had closed in on him, grinning. One had shoved Jim, only to learn at once the error of his ways. As the first one lay groaning upon the floor, the other, with a snarl, had drawn a gun. Instantly both Niko and the Brit as well had cried out, Niko demanding, "No guns!" while the other ordered, "Do not harm him!" — unless it was, "Do not harm his suit"?

Come to think of it, where _was _his suit? Here he was lying on this cot within a chilly make-shift jail cell at the far end of a hallway, and he was stripped down to nothing but his drawers! Jim glanced around, noticing some clothes that were stacked upon the chair that served as the only other piece of furniture in the cell. Clothes, yes — but not his own clothes. These items, he found as he inspected them, included a faded work shirt, an equally faded pair of old dungarees, and a remarkably cracked and holey set of work boots.

Someone had taken his clothes and left these in their place — and he probably didn't need to guess who was behind that. With a sigh, Jim set about pulling on the donated miner's outfit. And as he did, more of the fight began to come back to him.

…

Well, here was another passageway, broader than the hidden one Artie had found just inside the sally port. No more skeletons, at least, but plenty of dust. And yet…

He got down on one knee to inspect the dust. Ah yes, footprints! Someone had gone through this passage not too long ago, and among them… "I'd recognize the print of Jim's boots anywhere. So he went along this way and out through the sally port, and apparently along with some company! I wonder where they took him?" Artie frowned and tapped at his nose in thought. On the one hand, obviously Jim was no longer here, so was there any point in lingering? But on the other hand, Jim had come here for a reason, and if Artie was guessing correctly, the reason was almost certainly still here, and might well shed some light on why Jim had come and where he was now.

All right, now that _that _was settled, Artie hopped up and set off up the corridor heading deeper into the palace. Soon he found a set of stairs and bounded up them. At the top he had to unlock a door, but once that was done, he found himself within the museum proper. It was quiet and empty, and he roamed the silent rooms, looking for a way that led to a different area of the downstairs.

…

Jim remembered the man with the gun. After both Niko and the Brit had nixed the weapon, the man had tossed it aside and charged at Jim. And straightway the reckless minion had learned what it was like to be on the receiving end of a hip throw.

The rest of the fight was mostly a blur. A great number of the miners had rushed Jim then, and while he was dealing with them... What? _Something _must have happened, for there was still this tender spot on his scalp to account for. Jim fingered the area, noting that it was oblong and swelling. About the right shape to have been made by a cosh, or else by the butt end of a gun.

"Ah, you are awake!" came a smug voice with a British accent. "And you've discovered the little souvenir I bestowed upon you. Really, Mr West, you never should have lost sight of where I was, no matter how many other assailants had swarmed you."

Jim eyed his adversary, who had suddenly appeared from around one of the many stacks of crates that lined this dimly-lit hallway. "Then that was your crony's gun you hit me with," Jim guessed.

"Oh, on the contrary; it was my own," Ichko responded. "Which, conveniently enough, I still have right here." He drew it and aimed it through the iron bars at his prisoner.

"I seem to recall there was this little matter of not shooting me," Jim remarked.

"True, true. But that was _before_, you see."

"Before what?"

The Brit chuckled. "Before we divested you of that fine blue suit of yours!"

Jim looked down at himself. "You kidnapped me for my suit," he deadpanned.

"Oh, indeed! As you may recall from our conversation earlier with the, ah, Boss, I have a plan to, as they say, 'take care' of the primary obstacle to securing the throne. _You_, of course, would not cooperate to be the trusted man who eliminates that idiot Stepanko — but I have another who will, for the right price. And interestingly enough, he looks just like you!"

"So you're sending out a double of me to assassinate the king."

Ichko smiled. "Mm-hmm."

"Even though your boss told you not to."

Now the Brit laughed outright. "Oh, Niko is not my boss — not my real one! He's merely a dupe, a Pterovnian fool, useful for now, but soon to be tossed aside. Why, when we're done with him — and with you as well, of course — the so-called Traitor in the dungeons will no longer be regarded as the most hated man in Pterovnia, for the pair of _you _will have taken his place."

"For assassinating the king."

"Precisely! Not that either of you will be around long enough to revel in your new-found status, of course."

"Of course," Jim agreed. "So with the king out of the way, along with his obvious assassins in the persons of Niko and myself, that leaves a power vacuum, to be filled by…"

"By my _real _boss, of course."

"And that would be whom? Queen Victoria?"

The Brit barked with laughter. "Perish the thought! No, my real boss is someone far closer to Pterovnia than the Empress of that sceptered isle. He is… Well, let me put it this way, Mr West: it has a great deal to do with recent history in this cozy little corner of Eastern Europe. Tell me: how much do you know about the nation of Ruritania?"


	13. Act Three, Part Four

**Act Three, Part Four**

Artie found his new route downstairs quickly enough, along with… "What a mess!" He stared at the rubble of what had once been a display of exquisite, expensive vases, only a handful of the elegant ceramics having survived. "Well," he told himself, "just more proof that James was here. And there's the door I was looking for!" He crossed to the heavily timbered door that was clearly labeled as leading to the dungeons, pondered briefly what the price tag of one _krufko_ might mean, and headed down into the dark.

Here Artie found still more evidence that Jim had passed through, most particularly the wreckage of a table along one wall of this small subterranean room. He noted the scuff marks that showed where — what, two or three? — bodies had lain. Not much blood; presumably the bodies in question had left again under their own power. Artie then turned his attention to the locked door in this anteroom, converting it quickly into an unlocked door.

Beyond were the cells of the dungeon. Artie passed them one by one, shining his light within and asking of each prisoner whether he had seen a man in blue that day, along with which of the cells would hold Capt Koloshko. He received an interesting variety of responses, everything from close-mouthed disregard of his presence to screaming, flailing assaults on the blessedly locked cell doors. A couple of the prisoners, though, gave him replies to his questions. Granted, one of those replies involved a snarl of "The Traitor!" along with an impressively large gob of spittle landing on Artie's boot. With a polite "Thank you so much," Artie moved on out of that inmate's range.

Another of the prisoner's, by contrast, came to his cell door and cheerfully answered Artie's every question. Oh, yes, he had seen a man in blue that day; he'd been at the tail-end of the final group of rock-throwers. Nice fellow, that one. Hadn't lobbed a single rock. Hadn't ratted out the prisoner on the hunk of food one of the rock-throwers had smuggled in either. And the Traitor? Last cell of all, on around the corner there. Quiet fellow though, not likely to say much to a visitor. Oh, but it wouldn't happen that he could get rewarded for answering the questions, would it? Say, a piece of cheese or a swallow of whiskey? Hadn't had anything decent to drink in ages…

Artie was about to say No to the cheese when the fellow brought up the whiskey. After a moment's hesitation, Artie nodded, pulled out a hip flask, and handed it over. The prisoner's eyes lit up with glee; in less than a second he had the cap off the flask and upended it. With a sigh of satisfaction, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and held out the flask to return it. "_Kedurshte djo!_" he exclaimed, his grin displaying a mouthful of rotting teeth as he thanked his benefactor effusively.

Artie took a second look at the prisoner, particularly at the state of his mouth, and waved off the flask. "Just… just keep it. You go ahead and keep that."

The grin expanded till it nearly split the man's face in two. "_Kedurshte djo!_" he exclaimed again. "_Kedurshte djo!_"

Artie nodded, his own smile watery at best, and moved on, rounding the corner his informant had indicated.

And there he was, the Traitor, the most hated man in Pterovnia, sitting quietly in his prison cell thoroughly engrossed in braiding his beard.

"Capt Koloshko!" Artie called out quietly.

The man started and whirled, then gaped at him, blinking. "Why, Artemus Gordon! You as well?" Koloshko clambered to his feet and came to the door, holding out a hand in greeting. "But then, of course, I _should _have expected to see you also, after your partner's visit earlier."

Artie shook the captain's hand and began to frame a question, only to be drowned out with, "I am afraid Mr West was not very happy with me. I could tell him nothing, nor will I be able to satisfy your curiosity either, my friend."

"Then you know nothing about Mireje's kidnapping?"

"No, I can tell you noth… Mireje? _Mireje? __**Kidnapped?**_"

The change in the Traitor was astonishing. He went from chin-high self-assurance to wide-eyed horror in less than a second. He slammed a hand over his mouth and half-turned to stare up at the tiny barred window high up in the wall above his head, then pivoted back again. "They… _That _is what they were hinting at? That Baroness Mireje would be kidnapped?" His eyes blazed with fury.

"Who hinted?" asked Artie. "What are you talking about? What happened?"

Koloshko strode across his cell, glanced briefly at the man at his door, then dropped to one knee. It was difficult for Artie to see what the prisoner was doing, but he seemed to be scrabbling at the rocks of the wall. Moments later he stood up and returned to the cell door, rapidly unrolling a small slip of paper. "There," he said. "Read that!"

…

"Ruritania," Jim echoed. "That's the nation just west of Pterovnia. They crowned a new king not too long ago. A year or two back, as I recall."

"You recall well," the Brit beamed. "Or at least, you know the official story. There was indeed a coronation, but it did not run very smoothly — no, not at all. It seems that Rudolf V of Ruritania had a younger half-brother, the Duke of Strelsau, known more commonly as Black Michael, who was barred from the throne as being the offspring of their royal father's second, morganatic marriage. Black Michael, taking it into his head to have the throne after all, arranged for his brother Rudolf to be, ah… _indisposed _the morning of the coronation, intending to force matters into such a crisis that he would be welcomed with open arms by the distressed populace and thus become king anyway. Unfortunately for Michael, a distant cousin who happened to be a dead ringer for the king — yes, even to the point of sharing the king's Christian name! — was in town for the coronation. This second Rudolf was pressed into service to stand in for the royal version and held the throne for some weeks, until at last he and the king's men were able to liberate the real king, whom Black Michael had been holding prisoner within his estates at Zenda for all that time. And so the king reigned and his brother died, and their cousin disappeared back into the woodwork. A happy ending all around!"

"And you're telling me this why?" said Jim.

"Because it has bearing on our current situation. In fact, parts of it were directly inspirational! You see… ah, but are you familiar at all with Pterovnia's other neighbor, the nation to our east?"

"I believe that would be Carpania."

"You believe correctly, Mr West. There is a man in Carpania who, like Black Michael before him, greatly desires to reign. He is not a close relation to the king of Carpania, being a baron and not a duke. Having watched the career of Black Michael and taken instruction from it, he has in mind to take the throne not of his own country, but of a neighbor's."

"Meaning Pterovnia."

"Oh, very good, Mr West! You catch on so quickly! Yes, Baron Von Stuppe, learning that there was already a group of incipient revolutionaries here in Pterovnia, decided to take advantage of them by sending his own man to…" He smiled. "…infiltrate."

"And that would be you."

"Oh, yes! We borrowed from the events in Ruritania the idea of a double — though not, of course, of the king — as well as the notion of a new king sweeping in to take over after a destabilizing event. In our case, that event shall be the assassination of King Stepanko. On the heels of that, Baron Von Stuppe shall arrive, put down the revolutionaries, be acclaimed the Savior of Pterovnia, and accept her crown to reign as Rodrich I, naming his very young son Rolfe as Crown Prince. An excellent plan, wouldn't you say?"

"If it works. And this double? Where is he now?"

Ichko consulted his watch. "He should be ready to go any moment now… Ah, and here he is!"

Down the hallway came the pair of minions Jim had already fought twice, both men looking somewhat the worse for the wear, and between them…

Well, it was a bit like looking in the mirror. The double eyed Jim in return, smirking smugly. "Why, what am I doing in that cage?" he said, and his voice, like his face, was a decent copy of Jim's as well.

"You'll never get away with it," said Jim.

"You'd like to think so," replied his double.

"I know so," said Jim. "You'll never get past my partner. He'll peg you as ringer in a heartbeat."

"He might," said Ichko. "But we have it on good information that your partner is currently scouring the whole of Lyuko looking for you. And in his absence from the New Palace… yes, I believe we have a prime opportunity to strike our blow!"

"You never _will _get away with it!" came a new voice echoing Jim's words. And from behind another stack of crates in the hallway stepped forth none other than Niko, the gun in his hand leveled at his right-hand man the Brit.

…

"Where'd this note come from?" Artie asked, accepting it and shining his light upon it.

Koloshko nodded towards his only window. "Three nights ago that note was thrown into my cell. Even if it had been broad daylight at the time, it is impossible for me to see anyone outside through that window, not unless they press right up against the bars. But it was night and I saw no one."

"But you kept the note."

"I had some idea that I might need it later. But I had no idea that this is what it refers to!"

Artie nodded absently, reading the note. It was in Pterovnian, and said:

_Three days from now a great uproar shall come upon this city, and it is highly likely that blame for it shall fall upon you. If you are interrogated, we request that, for your love of the king, you only smile and say nothing, and we shall seek your security._

"And — no signature," Artie added.

Koloshko nodded grimly. "Now I know why, in questioning me, Mr West laid such emphasis on my love of the king! And he is right! What man who loves His Majesty would do such a thing to him as to steal his bride? Who are they? What are they up to? Why have they done this?"

Artie sighed and slipped the note into a pocket. "Well, Captain, apparently like Jim before me, I was really hoping you would know!"

…

Niko stepped forward, the gun in his hand aimed steadily at the Brit. "You seem to have forgotten, Ichko, that this…" His eyes glittered. "…_Pterovnian fool _speaks very good English."

"How long have you been listening?" asked Jim.

Niko smiled grimly. "A very long time, Mr West. Long enough to have my eyes fully opened. There were many occasions on which I had to restrain myself from running out and confronting this, this betrayer, but I wished to hear it all, and all from his own lips." Still glaring at the man he had blindly trusted, Niko drew a sharp breath and cut loose with a piercing whistle. Moments later the hallway was full of men, most of them miners, rushing to their leader's aid.

In swift, succinct Pterovnian, Niko gave the newcomers the gist of what had transpired, then barked out an order. And for the benefit of James West he repeated it in English. "Ichko has betrayed us. Seize him and his impostor as well and lock them up in the cell, but release Mr West!"

The miners moved forward, some encircling Ichko and his minions, others coming to stand with Niko. "You are finished, Ichko, you and your plot," Niko added. "I have told you many times, you are not to kill King Stepanko!"

"No?" said the Brit. "You have accused me of having a faulty memory, but perhaps you too are forgetting something."

Niko snorted. "And what is that?"

"That _I _have been the one doing most of the recruiting lately!" The Brit called out something snappy in Pterovnian, and instantly the men turned on Niko, knocking his gun away and setting out to beat him black and blue.

**End of Act Three**

_Author's Note: Ichko's narrative of the events in Ruritania is a very brief retelling of Anthony Hope's classic adventure novel _The Prisoner of Zenda _— well worth a read!_

_Meanwhile, the evil Baron Rodrich Von Stuppe of Carpania is based on (and in my version, the father of) Baron Rolfe Von Stuppe, Ross Martin's excellent villainous role in the hilarious movie _The Great Race _— well worth a watch!_


	14. Act Four, Part One

**Act Four, Part One**

The Brit pocketed his gun and chortled merrily, enjoying the sight of his erstwhile boss Niko being turned into one massive bruise. He gave the fake James West a pat on the shoulder. "Off you go then, lad. Have fun!" he said, then strolled about the perimeter of the room, endeavoring to stay out of the way of his brawling minions as he went over to pick up Niko's fallen gun.

Abruptly a hand seized him by the back of his collar and yanked him backwards into a set of iron bars. A moment later an arm encircled the Brit's throat. "Call them off!" growled a voice into his ear.

"I…! Ah…!" Ichko sputtered, writhing as he tried to break free of the real James West's steely grip. "No! No, I won't!"

The pressure around the man's throat redoubled. "Call them off!" West reiterated.

Ichko scrabbled at his pocket, going for his gun again. Suddenly the arm about his neck vanished and he felt himself thrust outwards by strong hands clutching his shoulders. Before he could quite process what was going on, the hands reversed directions, jerking him backwards against the bars again.

_Clang! _Ichko's head made a most intimate rendezvous with the unyielding iron, and the man sagged in Jim's grip. Quickly with one hand, Jim searched the Brit's pocket and came up with the key to the cell. He dropped the unconscious Englishman and turned his attention to the lock.

Meanwhile the fight raged on. Niko had found early on, much to his relief, that not all of the men in this battle were his opponents, but he and his defenders were definitely in the minority. Still he and his few were determined to sell their lives dearly, stubbornly refusing to let the dishonorable majority's inevitable victory be an effortless one.

And then the certainty that Niko and his crew would lose became far more dubious as a lithe and athletic figure threw open the cell door and sprang right into the midst of the fray. One by one, or two and three together, this new ally grabbed Ichko's men and mopped up the floor with them. Some he slugged, others he sent flying into walls or into crates or even into each other. Soon the fighting force was drastically reduced.

One man, however, was just coming back to consciousness. The Brit looked around at the devastation James West was causing, and with a ferocious scowl went for something in his pocket.

"Look out, Mr West!" cried Niko. "Ichko! He has a gun!" The betrayed leader of the revolutionaries dove for the spot where his own gun had long before come to rest. Niko rolled and came up to one knee, leveling the revolver at his erstwhile right-hand man, and…

Oh. As Niko looked on in amazement, Mr West dashed the gun out of Ichko's hand, then laid hold of the Brit's collar, yanked the man to his feet, then butted him squarely, forehead to forehead.

Once again Ichko collapsed. Jim flung him into the cell, clanged the door shut, and tossed Niko the key. "You and your men can handle the rest of these, I believe," he said.

"_Dasda _— yes! And thank you, Mr West!" Niko held out a hand and Jim shook it.

"You wouldn't have a carriage, would you?" Jim asked.

"To take you to the Old Palace to go after Ichko's assassin? Carriage, no — but we do have a couple of horses."

"Thanks. I only need one."

"True. But I will take the other; I am coming with you." Niko passed the key on to one of the men who had fought on his side, along with orders to fill the cell with all of the Brit's minions.

"I'll make faster time alone," Jim said and set off up the hallway.

"But that is only if you know your way around the city," Niko countered, limping after the American as fast as he could.

"Yes, and I do," said Jim. "I know my way between the Old Palace and the New, and I memorized the route by which your men brought me here from the museum."

Niko gave a small snort. "No doubt you did — but if I know Ichko, he had you brought here by a most circuitous route, did he not? Another of his grand gestures."

Jim paused in midstep. "And you know a more direct route?"

Niko grinned. "Naturally!"

"Well then, come on. We don't have a second to lose!" With the Ptervonian miner hurrying to keep up, Jim raced up the hallway and out into the open air.

…

Artie stepped back out into the sunshine beyond the sally port and sighed, wondering if this had been a wasted trip. Koloshko knew nothing, and Artie still didn't know what had become of Jim.

Hmm… Well, there _had _been those footprints in the dust inside. Perhaps there were more tracks out here?

Ah yes! A quick survey of the ground rewarded Artie with another set of footprints, including Jim's highly distinctive boot marks. He set off following them, off to the right, around one corner, then another, bringing him back around to the front of the Old Palace.

And here the trail ended. He wasn't entirely sure, but it looked to Artie as if Jim had been loaded into a carriage here. But which way had the carriage taken him? Wheel tracks of all sorts led in a thousand directions here before the museum; which track would lead him to Jim? He rubbed at his chin and looked up the street and down, hoping for inspiration.

Great jumpin' balls of St Elmo's fire, what he got was even better! There was Jim right now, riding past in a cab!

"Jim! Hey, Jim!" Artie called.

Strange. His partner must not have heard him, for he didn't even turn his head to look at him. Well, that didn't matter too much. All Artie needed to do was catch a cab for himself, which turned out to be a fairly simple task in this part of town. Pointing to the carriage moving briskly up the street before them, Artie told his driver, "Follow that cab!"

…

They weren't the best horses Jim had ever seen, and weren't too far off from the worst ones either. It was a great temptation to leave the horses behind and take off running — except that Niko was in no shape after his recent beating to travel on foot. Not only that, but he had been right about Jim's need for a guide to take him through the streets of Lyuko.

Shortly Jim heard the _clop-clop_ of horse's hooves coming up from behind them. A cab, and without a fare to boot! Jim reined in his horse and called out to the cabbie.

The driver scowled at the pair of men in their worn and faded workmen's clothing. He growled out something in Pterovnian.

Niko, quickly dragging off his cap, spoke respectfully to the driver, but the cabbie only snorted and shook his head, then slapped the reins to urge his draft horse into a quicker pace, leaving the pair of men behind him.

"What's his problem?" said Jim. "He doesn't want passengers?"

"Not passengers like us, no," Niko sighed. "He does not think we can pay. And, truth be told, _I _do not have enough money to ride in style to the palace. Do you?"

Jim reached for a pocket, then remembered that this clothing was not his own. No doubt when his suit had been taken from him, his wallet had been stolen as well. "Guess not," he replied.

The two rode on.

…

The closer Artie's carriage brought him to the New Palace, the more crowded the streets became. The carriage he was following, however, was having the same problem. At length that carriage reined up and its occupant dismounted, tossing the cabbie a coin. Artie followed suit, then set out as briskly as he could trailing after his partner through the throngs of people. "Jim! Hey, Jim!" he called again.

But again Jim apparently didn't hear him. He shoved on through the mob, knocking into an old woman in his haste. The woman doddered in his wake, starting to lose her balance.

"Hey!" Artie scurried ahead, trying to catch the old granny before she could fall. Quickly he wrapped his arms around her, then gently set her back on her feet. As her withered old voice wheezed out "_Kedurshte djo!_" to him half a dozen times, Artie stared off after his partner. What was the matter with Jim? he wondered. What kind of a hurry was he in, to treat an old lady like that?

"Something must be really wrong here," Artie muttered to himself. He touched the brim of his hat to the old granny, then set off again, more determined than ever to catch up with Jim.

…

"I cannot believe I was such a fool as to fall for Ichko's lies, Mr West! But his lies were very good; he knew all the right words to use to convince us that he was a true revolutionary. I suppose though," Niko mused, "the fact that he never told us his right name should have been a tip-off — but then so often we who are striving to bring about radical changes in our countries must hide our identities."

"I always did think 'Ichko' sounded more like a Pterovnian name than an English one," Jim commented, still trying to urge a little speed out of his mount.

"Oh, it is not even a Pterovnian name!" said Niko. "It is based on one of the letters in the alphabet: the letter _ich_, which you would know in English as…"

"Let me guess," Jim interrupted. "The letter X?"

Niko grinned. "_Dasda! _You are very perceptive, Mr West!" His smile faded quickly though. "Oh, but we must foil Ichko's plot to assassinate our king! It is one thing to plan a peaceful change of government, quite another to plot the death of a monarch! For that matter, _we _were working for a government in which all our people would have a voice, only to find that this _Ingleshko _would replace our Pterovnian king, not with a Pterovnian president or even a Pterovnian congress, but with a _foreigner! _A cursed Carpanian!"

"You're not fond of Carpanians, I take it."

"Fond? Mr West," Niko said, his reply plainly intended to make everything crystal clear, "Carpania is a Catholic nation!"

"So? The majordomo's wife is Catholic."

"Yes, yes, but she is not vying to rule over an Orthodox nation, and Baron Von Stuppe is! If that infernal Carpanian takes over here, he will no doubt outlaw our Pterovnian Orthodox faith in favor of his own!"

Jim glanced at him. "So you're saying that a man who seizes a throne by means of assassination would then have the gall to insist that _his _religion was better than anyone else's."

"Yes, and kill anyone who disagrees with him."

Jim shook his head. "Unfortunately, if I know my history, that's been an all too common occurrence in this corner of the world."

"And most of the other corners as well, I think," said Niko sadly.

…

At last, at last! Artie hurried under the open portcullis of the New Palace and in through the gate beyond it. There was Jim, only a few yards ahead of him. Artie started to put on a burst of speed…

"Oh, Mr Gordon! Please, do come and help us!"

The feminine voice appealing for help drew Artie up short. He pivoted to see a gaggle of courtly ladies crowding around the majordomo, among them a lovely blonde with pearls in her hair.

"Oh, hello again, Your Highness." Artie pulled the hat from his head as he greeted Princess Gina Carlottic… er, Gina Carlotta. "I beg your pardon, but I was in the middle of catching up with…"

"Artemus!" came another familiar voice. A dark-eyed beauty wearing a tasteful gold coronet upon her brunette locks broke from the rest of the noble ladies and strode towards him smilingly, both hands held out before her. "How wonderful to see you again, Artemus!" said she, welcoming him with a kiss that landed in the air near his cheek. "Albeit under such distressing circumstances, that is."

Artie nearly did a double take. "Why, if it isn't Queen Leandra!" he beamed. "How are you doing, Your Highness? Are you also among Baroness Mireje's bridesmaids?"

"Yes, indeed, as are we all." Leandra waved a hand at the remainder of the young women.

"We came here to the palace," Gina Carlotta added, "thinking that it would be a good idea for us to gather in the king's chapel within and hold a prayer vigil for Mireje's safe return."

"Yes, but _he _will not let us in!" Leandra fumed, and pointed out Ruvenko Duzko, the lone man within the huddle of young women.

"Oh, I see," said Artie. "I rescued the princess here from Duzko earlier when he refused to bend his orders for her, and now I'm being asked to do so again? Well, I'd be glad to help, Your Highnesses, but I really need to catch up with Jim right away, and…"

"Oh, yes. There he is at the palace door," said Gina Carlotta. "Or…" she frowned. "Perhaps not. Perhaps I am mistaken."

"The man in blue, do you mean?" asked Leandra. "He looks something like James, yes, but I don't think that is he."

Artie as well took a look, and frowned as his previous puzzlement during this chase after his partner rose up within him again. That was plainly Jim, wasn't it? It _had _to be, for who else would be dressed in a bright blue bolero suit? And yet… no, something was wrong; something was off.

The man turned and looked out over the courtyard.

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Leandra. "That's James West, all right. I'd recognize him anywhere."

And that, thought Artie, was the problem: he too would recognize Jim anywhere, and as long as he was looking at the man's face, it was obviously Jim. But as soon as he turned his back…

Which he did precisely at the moment. And Artie snapped his fingers. Of course! Now he knew what was wrong. The rear view! Even Janus had looked like Jim from behind, but this man didn't! He didn't have the, er, _background _for the pants he was wearing!

"Excuse me, ladies. I'll be glad to come help you shortly, but it's absolutely imperative that I catch up with, uh, with Jim right this minute!" He nodded to them both, then turned away, jamming his hat back onto his head as he rushed for the door. He also nodded to Captain Andreshko and Lady Anushche, but without stopping to speak to them. Behind him, though, he heard Andreshko saying, "It's very kind of you to make the offer, Your Highnesses, but such a vigil just won't be nec… Oh!"

"What my cousin means," Anje put in graciously, "is that the chapel isn't ready for you to use for a vigil quite yet. Wait here, if you please, and all will be prepared for you shortly."

Well, Artie thought, at least that was resolved. But who was this bogus Jim and what was he up to? Artie hurried up the stairs, practically on the man's heels, and was just about to catch him by the arm and swing him around to demand an explanation. But right at that moment the fake Jim stepped inside the palace and shut the door decisively — right in Artie's face. "Ow…" Artie touched his nose gingerly, decided it was barely bruised, then yanked the door open to go confront his so-called partner.

"But where is he?" he blurted out loud. For there was no one in sight within the foyer of the palace. No one at all.


	15. Act Four, Part Two

**Act Four, Part Two**

Not far away, down one opulently decorated corridor and around a corner, a man in blue was going quickly from one room to the next, opening each door in turn, glancing within, then moving on. He had not much time, he was sure, to locate the king, conclude his business with the soon-to-be, ah, _former _monarch, then make his escape again. But first he had to find the man!

"Ah, _M'sieur _West!"

The supposed West spun to find a natty little Frenchman bustling towards him. "How fortuitous that I have found you, _mon ami!" _the Frenchie burbled. "His Majesty wishes another interview with you, and with _M'sieur _Gordon _aussi_. He is returned now, _n'est-ce pas?"_

"I don't know where Mr Gordon is," the impostor claimed. "The king wants to see me?" Perfect!

"_Oui, oui_. He awaits you in his study. _Pardonnez-moi_, but I must seek out _M'sieur _Gordon as well. _À bientôt_." Dr Rodin started to scurry off down the corridor, but the man in blue forestalled him.

"In his study, you say."

"_Oui_, yes. A private place for private thoughts, do you not agree?"

"And the king's study is…"

"_Bien sûr_, it is the room in which you spoke with His Majesty earlier today! Surely you remember!"

Surely he didn't, but the Frenchie was off now, removing the option of asking him again for directions — which would only have aroused his suspicions anyway. Seeing no other course ahead of him, the fake James West continued on to the next door, poked his nose in briefly, found no sign of the king, and so moved on to the next door, then the one after that, and the one after that, and...

…

Along a different corridor, a figure in mauve was doing the same thing, striding past the lush regal bric-a-brac of suits of armor and tapestries as he moved from one door to the next, looking for the man who was not his partner. Of everyone he met he inquired after Jim, only to receive the same answer: No, they were sorry, but no one had seen him. This was getting frustrating!

Shortly in his search Artie stepped into one room and found himself in what was obviously the chapel. A profusion of flower arrangements showed that this room was to have been the venue for the prorogued wedding. The chapel seemed empty, and Artie was about to withdraw again when a slight movement caught his eye.

Ah, the room wasn't empty after all. Half obscured by one of the massive floral garlands was a solitary figure kneeling before the altar, a black mantilla spread over her head: Catalina Duzche. The small movement had been that of her hand as she crossed herself.

"Cat," Artie called softly.

She started and her head whipped around. "_Señor _Gordon!"

"You know," he commented as she came to her feet, "there was a time when you called me 'Artemus.' "

"True," she replied, "but that was during a time of pretense." She glided up the aisle toward the door.

"Come to think of it, so is this," Artie remarked.

Catalina's hand flew over her mouth. "Why, what do you mean?" she cried.

"That there's an impostor here in the palace, Cat, someone dressed in Jim's clothes who isn't Jim. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"No." She shook her head, frowning. "But why would a man pretend to be _Señor _West?"

"That, my dear Cat, is the sixty-four dollar question!"

"Such strange goings on!" Catalina mused. "And curiously enough, only a few minutes ago Dr Rodin looked in, asking about _Señor _West as well."

"He did? Why?"

"The king has summoned him — ah, and you as well. He wishes to speak with you both in his study."

"Oh, he does!" Artie had to suppress a sigh of irritation. Of all times for the king to interrupt what he was doing! Still, one didn't keep a king waiting. And for that matter, it wouldn't be a bad idea to inform His Majesty of the _ersatz _Jim. Hmm...

"_Muchas gracias_, Cat. I'll let you get back to your prayers now. Oh, you'll likely have company soon. All the bridesmaids have come to the palace, wanting to keep a prayer vigil for Mireje's safe return. Funny, I thought Anushche said the chapel was being made ready for them."

Fingering her rosary, Catalina said, "It is ready enough, I suppose. I will welcome the company. We shall pray diligently for _la baronesa_, that _el teniente _Jenko may find her without fail, and for a safe journey for them both. _Pero con permiso_. If you will excuse me." She turned away to return to her place kneeling before the altar.

Artie threw in a swift prayer of his own, appealing to Providence that he might find the impostor quickly and thwart whatever nefarious scheme the man had here in the palace, then left the chapel to go respond to the king's call.

From out of the shadows behind a statue on a tall plinth out in the corridor, a figure in blue emerged, a hooded smile upon his face. Well, well, here was Mr West's partner himself, and off to see the king! Keeping well out of sight, the bogus Jim slipped along on the trail of the man in mauve.


	16. Act Four, Part Three

**Act Four, Part Three**

"All right, this is close enough," said Jim. He sprang from the horse's back and set off dodging through the crowds still thronging near the main gate of the New Palace, tossing out apologies as he went.

"Wait!" cried Niko. He too dismounted, and after a moment's frantic search he found a place to tie the horses before hurrying off to follow the American.

Jim had already arrived at the gate by the time Niko came limping up behind him. "No, I don't have my credentials," the Secret Service agent was saying, and with only a last shred of patience too. "I already told you: they were stolen from me along with my clothes by an impostor who's been sent to assassinate King Stepanko!"

The chief guard on the gate, eyes narrowing, leveled his rifle at Jim and growled, "Or else _you _are the impostor trying to trick me! _Prove _to me that you are the real James West!"

Jim sighed. Well, if this dolt wanted proof, he'd just have to give it to him, wouldn't he? He glanced at Niko, wishing the miner at his side were Artie instead. His partner would know to take advantage of the up-coming diversion to charge on inside and try to spread the warning to someone with a modicum more sense than this joker with the rifle. But would Niko's mind work that way?

Nevertheless... Softly Jim murmured to Niko, "I'm gonna have to dump this guy." He then turned back to the guard, smiled sweetly… and struck with the speed of a rattlesnake.

Abruptly the guard found himself fighting for control of his gun, for the man who claimed to be James West had grabbed hold of the rifle's barrel and stepped forward, moving the muzzle off to one side and downward. At the same time his other hand seized the guard by the front of his collar.

The guard yelped and struggled, trying to yank both his gun and his clothing free. And in the confusion...

_Ka-chow!_

…

The lengthy debate between Lady Anje and Ruvenko Duzko had just concluded with the majordomo compelled at last to admit defeat. "Very well, then," he told the bridesmaids. "On Lady Anje's recommendation, I accede: you may all enter and use the chapel to keep prayer for Baroness Mireje. However!" he added over the delighted utterances of the young noblewomen, "pray keep in mind that the king does not want visitors at this time; do stay out of his sight!"

"Thank you, we will," replied Gina Carlotta, acting as spokeswoman. She shooed the rest of the bridesmaids ahead of her, herding them towards the palace.

_Ka-chow!_

At the sound of the rifle firing, everyone in the courtyard whirled to stare at the commotion at the gate.

"Look!" Queen Leandra clutched at Princess Gina Carlotta's arm and pointed toward a man who was in the very act of slugging a guard. As the guard crumpled, the man wrested a smoking rifle from the fallen man's hands, checked the magazine, and must have found it empty for he then tossed the rifle aside. "Isn't… isn't that…?"

The princess gaped in surprise. "It is! Oh, but it cannot be! Mr West just went into the palace a few minutes ago, right before Mr Gordon did! And yet…"

The royal bridesmaids weren't the only ones baffled by the sight of the man in the gate. As three more guards rushed the intruder, Andreshko cried out to the ladies, "Stay there! Duzko, watch over them!" and took off running for the disturbance. As he charged toward the fight though, he saw someone slip around past the developing melee and hurry into the courtyard at a fast limp, coming straight towards him.

"Stop right there!" the young captain ordered, drawing his sidearm.

The limping man threw his hands into the air. "Please! You must call off the guards!" he shouted. "That's James West — the real one! We are chasing a double of him who has been sent out to kill the king!"

"What?" Dreshko swiveled to glance back at the palace, at the front door through which he had seen the familiar figure clad in blue enter not ten minutes earlier. "No, that cannot be Mr West. He's already here!"

"Already here? Then we must hurry! The king's life is at stake!" The limping man took one more step towards Andreshko.

And found the young captain's revolver pointed at his nose. "Stay right where you are!" Andreshko ordered. "Do not try to fool me. I already saw the real James West; it is your friend there who is the impostor!"

"Do you wish to make a bet on that?" the man with the limp said grimly, and he nodded toward the gate, drawing the captain's attention to the progress of the fight.

Dreshko had no doubt this was a diversion, that the man had in mind to sneak past him as soon as he was distracted by watching the fracas. And so he kept his eyes locked on the man before him, ignoring the action at the gate. Until, that is, a number of feminine voices from behind him cried out admiringly. Among them was the voice of Her Majesty Princess Gina Carlotta exclaiming, "Oh now, _that _without a doubt is the one and only authentic James West; no one fights as he does!"

Curiosity finally got the better of him. Maintaining his aim on the man with the limp, Andreshko glanced toward the gate.

He was just in time to see the man who certainly looked like Mr West leap up and with both hands grasp the bottom crossbar of the open portcullis. He swung back, then out, crashing into a trio of the guards, sending all three sprawling even as he himself somersaulted over them to land with the grace of a cat. He spun into the next pair of guards as they rushed him, grabbing the one and using him to knock down the other. Yet another guard charged at the intruder, but the man simply ducked under his arms and whirled, hammering the guard on the back as he flew past. Two more guards went after him…

"Surely you recognize him by now, Dreshko."

The captain whirled back again and glared at the man with the limp. "Why do you call me that?" he demanded.

"Because we met before, back in the West Coast Consulate when you were still a child. Or under the consulate, I should say." The man stuck out a hand. "Remember me? I am Niko. I was one of the miners your mother was keeping as her slave-labor force."

"You…" Andreshko frowned, squinting, then gaped in recognition. "_Dasda! _Of course, I do remember you! And that…" He gestured toward the gate, where five guards jumped the intruder all at once, burying him under their combined mass.

"…is in fact James West," Niko confirmed. "We are here because… ah… because he uncovered a plot to assassinate our king. Now, put an end to this fight at once so that we may go and stop the fake Mr West!"

At that moment the human tornado named West burst up from under the stack of guards, flinging them in all directions. Another guard scooped up the first guard's rifle and bore down on West from behind, fire in his eyes as he drew back the gun to swing it right at Jim West's head.

_Blam!_

At the sound of a new gunshot, everyone in the courtyard whirled once more, this time to stare at Captain Andreshko, his smoking revolver pointed at the sky. His face a bit ashen, the young officer barked out a terse set of orders to his men, sending some back to their posts at the gate, calling the rest to follow him. Slowly, groaning, the guards began to obey. West even reached down a hand to help the man nearest him back up to his feet.

The guard behind him, however, the one who had been about to club Jim's head with that rifle, saw his chance. Ignoring orders, he took a tighter grip on the rifle and reared back to get all his weight back of the whack he was about to take. This infernal American would never know what hit him!


	17. Act Four, Part Four

**Act Four, Part Four**

The man in blue was about to round a corner within the palace when he instead pressed himself up against the wall. He grinned, listening to the sound of a knock on a nearby door, followed by the door opening. A brief conversation ensued, both too short and too quiet for the fake Jim to hear what was being said. He recognized one of the voices, however: it was unmistakably that of His Majesty King Stepanko. This fool of an American had led him right to his quarry!

From the holster at his side the impostor drew a revolver, pausing a second to admire the rattlesnake inlay on the grip. It was a pity he would have to leave this gun behind, dropped on the floor by the body of the king, for he would be proud to own such a fine weapon. But in order to frame the real James West for the assassination, he would of necessity have to abandon the distinctive gun here.

But no matter. He was to be well paid for this little adventure; he would shortly have more than enough _krufkozí_ to order such a weapon be made for him by the finest gunsmith in Pterovnia.

He listened and heard no sounds from beyond the corner. Likely the king and the American had withdrawn into the king's study for whatever purpose the king had summoned the man. Quietly the impostor stepped forward, rounding the corner.

Indeed, he saw no one in the corridor, only the usual assortment of grandiose knickknacks, including a suit of armor practically at his elbow. He smiled and glided forward, his borrowed boots making hardly a sound in the thick carpeting on the floor. He reached for the gleaming marble doorknob of the only door in the hallway.

A small sound behind him drew his attention. He pivoted, the gun in his hand automatically coming up…

_Clang! _

…

Practically every person in the courtyard with the exception of James West himself saw the guard standing behind him, murder in his eyes as he raised the rifle to club it over the back of West's head. To a woman the bridesmaids gasped and clutched at something, whether her own heart or the arm of the woman standing next to her. Niko's mouth dropped open as he began to frame a cry of, "Behind you!" while beside him Captain Andreshko's finger tightened on the trigger to fire yet another warning shot.

And Jim, seeing all the shocked looks aimed in his direction, took the hint and dove for the ground rolling.

_Whoosh! _He both heard the sound and felt a breeze as something whizzed by over his head. He looked up to see a guard stumbling sideways with a rifle held in his hands like a baseball bat, teetering from having missed his target. Before the guard could recover, Jim lashed out with one foot, catching the man in the knee. As the sneaky guard yelped and crashed to the ground, Jim bounded to his feet again and took off running for the palace door.

Niko limped after him, and Andreshko as well hurried to intersect Jim's path. "My apologies, Mr West!" the captain cried. "The impostor — he fooled me as well!"

"But not Artemus, I think," said a brunette from among the gaggle of beautiful ladies congregated around Ruvenko Duzko.

Jim glanced at her, then took a second look. "Leandra? That is, Queen Leandra?"

She nodded, and the blonde beside her with pearls in her hair added, "Yes, Mr Gordon followed the fake you inside, almost right on his heels."

"And Princess Gina Carlotta," Jim said, recognizing her as well. "Do you know where they were going?"

The royal ladies exchanged a look. "Well… no…"

"Does anyone know where Artie and the man wearing my clothes were going? Or does anyone know where the king is right now?"

The general silence gave Jim his answer. Turning to the young captain, Jim ordered, "Get some men together and follow me as quickly as you can. I'm going in."

"Not without me!" called Niko. He took off after Mr West, limping along woefully behind as Jim raced for the door and charged inside the palace. If only he could find the king before the assassin did!

Meanwhile, Captain Andreshko looked around the courtyard and tried to find some guards who were still in good enough shape to rush to their king's aid.

…

Pain shot through the impostor's wrist as something clobbered his gun hand, sending the revolver sailing through the air to land under a Louis Quinze table. With shock he found himself confronted by the very American he had been following through the palace, and he took in the dark and dangerous look on the American's face along with the medieval mace held in his hand.

"Hi, Jim," the man said casually. "Or wait! No, you're not Jim; you just lurk in palace corridors and pretend to be Jim. You know, it's not exactly conducive to your continued health and well-being to try to make people believe you're James West. He has too many enemies who might just attack you thinking you're him — not to mention a certain best friend of his who's about to beat the snot out of you, _knowing _you're not him!" Artie brandished the mace and took a step toward the impostor.

The bogus Jim took a step backwards, a look of dismay upon his face. A second later that look disappeared as he whipped up his left hand and snatched Jim's knife out of the pocket at the back of his collar. He grinned and slashed the knife at his opponent, cutting the back of Artie's hand.

The mace fell to the floor. "Now we are even," chortled the fake Jim, his accent plainly Pterovnian. "Each of us injured in the right hand, yes?" He swept the knife back and forth, seeking to keep the American off balance.

"Who are you?" Artie demanded, carefully staying back out of the reach of the man and his knife. "What have you done with Jim, and why are you here at the palace pretending to be him?"

Fake Jim laughed. "Oh, I am sure you have guessed my business here, Mr Gordon! That is the king's study there, is it not? I need only get past you, and then there will no longer be a king in Pterovnia!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," growled Artie. "But what about Jim?" His eyes scanned the corridor as he took yet another step backwards.

The impostor grinned. "He was in a jail cell the last I saw of him, waiting to bear the blame for the king's murder! But I see now that, before I rid Pterovnia of her king, I shall have to rid myself of _you!" _He lunged forward, aiming the knife at Artie's midsection.

_Clang! _Suddenly there was a shield in the way, plucked from the same suit of armor that had contributed the mace. Artie batted the knife to one side, then swatted the shield across the assassin's face. And something cracked.

The impostor grabbed at his nose, then stared down at a palmful of blood. "You… you…!" he hissed, then sprang at Artie, arms wide to grapple with him.

Artie took a small step to one side, his elbow coming up to drive hard into his attacker's ribs. As the man's air whooshed from his lungs and his own momentum carried him on past Artie, the Secret Service agent followed up the elbow with a double-hammer on the impostor's back, ending with the coup de grâce of a foot in the seat of his pants. The impostor stumbled onward, falling head first into the…

_Crash! _Into the suit of armor by the corner. For a moment he looked like he might rise up again as he got his hands under himself and began to push up.

Then he collapsed and lay still.

Whew! Well, Jim had certainly drilled that particular set of moves into Artie time and again during their sparring sessions on the train; good to know all the training had paid off! Artie yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and quickly tied it around his bleeding hand, then started to kneel by the fallen assassin to check both his pulse and eyes to assess the man's condition. Before he could touch him, however, Artie heard the sound of the door behind him as it clicked open.

"Mr Gordon? You are done?"

Artie whirled and scrambled back to his feet. "Your Majesty, I told you to keep that door closed and locked until I gave you the all-clear! Shut it back again at once!"

"But…" The king, standing in the doorway, gestured at the tangled mess of assassin and armor cluttering the floor. "You have removed the threat, have you not? So the danger is past."

"Maybe _this _danger is past, but we don't know yet if he was the only one! Now get that door shut again, and…"

_Blam!_

…

Jim charged through the corridors of the palace, trying to guess which way to go, which direction to search. Not much time, and the fight at the gate had wasted far more of it than he would have liked. He sprinted onward, rounding a corner.

And bowled right into someone who was coming the other way. Jim bounded to his feet again and reached down a hand to help the other up as well. "I'm so sorry," he said automatically, then recognized his unintended victim. "Oh, Dr Rodin! Maybe you can help me. I need to see the king right away. Where is he?"

The little Frenchman patted at himself until he found the black ribbon by which his pince-nez glasses were pinned to his vest. These he retrieved, then polished them before settling them on his nose again. He now blinked owlishly through the lenses at Jim for a second, then shook his head in puzzlement. "_Mais bien sûr, M'sieur _West, I told you not twenty minutes ago, _n'est-ce pas? _His Majesty is waiting to speak with you. Why have you not gone to him?"

"Waiting for me where?" Jim asked hurriedly.

"I… I told you," Rodin dithered. "How is it that you have forgotten?"

Seizing the Frenchman by his shoulders, Jim barked, "Because that wasn't me! That was an _assassin_, and if you told him where the king is, you may well have contributed to…"

From somewhere within this labyrinth of a palace came a muffled _blam!_

"_Sacré bleu!" _squeaked Dr Rodin. "That was from the direction of the king's study! That was where I sent him. Ah, _mon Dieu_, what have I done? What have I done?"

"The study," Jim repeated. "I was there earlier; I ought to be able to find it. Watch over him!" he added as Niko came puffed up the corridor. Leaving the horrified Frenchman in the care of the limping miner, Jim raced off again, seeking the source of the gunshot.

…

Artie wasn't quite sure what had happened. When he saw the king standing in the open study door, he had berated the royal dunce and strode towards him, reaching into the room to grab the doorknob and pull the door shut himself. Then had come the explosion, followed by a searing pain in his side. As his legs buckled under him, Artie's hand missed the marble doorknob and he toppled forward. That was when the gleaming marble connected with his temple, and after that was blackness. Artie did not even hear the king cry out, "Mr Gordon!" nor did he feel the king's hands as His Majesty dropped to his royal knees beside him and grabbed his shoulders.

"Mr Gordon!" Stepanko cried again, shaking the American agent to no avail. He did not awaken. He was, however, getting blood all over the carpet. With shaking hands the king yanked the creamy white silk ascot from his neck and jammed it against Artemus Gordon's side. From the corner of his eye the king saw a figure out in the corridor. "Quickly!" the monarch ordered. "Go and fetch Dr Rodin here at once. Hurry!"

"I don't believe I shall do that," a voice replied. In shock Stepanko looked up to see the familiar figure of James West standing in the corridor, a derringer in his left hand, blood streaming from his nose. And strangely enough, West had just responded to the king in excellent Pterovnian.

Slowly the king came to his feet. "You… you aren't Mr West, are you?"

The gunman grinned and wiped some blood from his face. "You're a smart one, aren't you, Your Majesty? Can't put anything past you, can I?"

The king looked at the small gun in the impostor's hand. Derringers were typically two-shot weapons, and the man had only fired once. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from that second bullet, and with Mr Gordon fallen in the doorway, the king couldn't even shut the door for protection from his enemy. "I see," said the king. Drawing himself up to his full height, Stepanko Milushko Simvjelko Zerildetko, by the Grace of God King of Pterovnia, Defender of the Faith, etc, etc, faced the gunman who had come to take his life and said, "May I at least know the reason I am to be assassinated?"

"For the greater glory of Carpania!"

The king blinked, then gaped. "Car… Carpania! Why, what do the Hapnicks have against me? We have always been on cordial terms!"

"Not the ruling family themselves, you royal idiot! I am an agent of Baron Von Stuppe of Carpania, or as he shall soon be known, Rodrich I of Pterovnia!"

"What, you mean that… that overbearing saber-wielding womanizer? Well, of all the nerve! That man will become king of my people only over my dead body!"

"Yes," said the gunman, cocking the derringer, "that is the general idea." Carefully he leveled the gun, taking direct aim at the king's heart and…

_Blam!_

Just as the king's eyes winced shut involuntarily, just at the moment the gun went off, he saw a figure fly into view in the doorway and tackle the assassin. The gun's deadly aim went awry at that very last second, and Stepanko felt an impact not in his chest but in his upper arm. He fell anyway, then scrambled back to his feet to gape at the sight of two men as alike as twins rolling over and over down the hallway. The one dressed in workman's clothes came out on top and straddled the one in blue, smashing his fists into his opponent's face over and over again, beating him still bloodier than Mr Gordon had left him as he growled out, "If you've killed Artie, so help me, I'll put you in your grave, you bas…"

He was interrupted by an extremely weak voice from the floor by the king's feet. "J… Jim? That you?"

For one glorious moment, Jim's eyes went wide with fathomless relief. Then he slugged the assassin one last time, checked to make sure he was both senseless and weaponless, then bounded to his partner's side. "Artie!"

Jim started to pull his friend upright, but the way Artie's face blenched told him how bad an idea that was. Instead he dropped to his knees by his injured buddy's side and began checking the wound. "Artie, how bad is it?"

"I've… had worse," Artie murmured. His eyes focused on Jim's face for a second and he ventured a reassuring smile — just before the lights went out once more.

**End of Act Four  
><strong>_(tag to follow)_


	18. Tag

**Tag**

"Well, Doctor, how is he?" asked Jim.

Dr Rodin leaned back from the divan in the king's study on which Artemus Gordon lay, the bullet hole in his side now cleansed and bandaged. Rodin removed his pince-nez, polished them assiduously, then replaced them upon his nose before answering. "The wound is far less severe than it might have been," he said. "It hit him well to one side in his back, and the path it traveled through the flank of his torso, _Dieu merci_, missed his vital organs. I expect him to make a full recovery."

"Then why isn't he awake?" Jim persisted.

"Ah, that would be this injury here," Rodin replied. He turned Artie's head to indicate the swelling above his ear. "He may well be concussed; we will need to watch him carefully, _n'est-ce pas?"_

There came a groan from the wounded agent as Artie lifted a hand to cover his eyes. "Ooh…" he moaned. "Did anyone get the number of the train that hit me?"

"It was Jim West Number Two," his partner replied teasingly. "Glad to have you back, Artie."

"Yeah, back. Oh, but Lily!" His voice trailed off.

"Ah," said Jim. "Artie, Lily isn't here. Remember? We're in…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know where we are! I'm just saying that when Lily finds out I got… shot, was it? Yeah, shot. When she finds out I got shot, she's gonna kill me!"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Your wife isn't going to kill you, Artie. Especially since you got wounded while protecting the king's life."

Artie's brows knitted. "Protecting the king's… Where am I again?"

"In my study," said the king. Dr Rodin moved now from the divan to the desk where Stepanko had been patiently awaiting his turn, having insisted that the obviously more severely injured Mr Gordon be attended to first. Now he winced as Rodin undid the cloth Jim West had tied around the king's arm. The doctor tutted softly, then set about washing the wound and applying mercurochrome.

"Your… study…" Artie echoed. He blinked up at Jim, then glanced around, taking in the rest of the room, including a weary workman sitting near the door and a number of armed guards — some of whom looked to be in need of a doctor themselves — posted all around the walls.

Then Artie focused on the two men at the desk. "And Dr Rodin? He really is a doctor? All this time I just thought it was a philoso… philos…" He sighed, disgusted with the lack of cooperation currently coming from his tongue. "Y'know, not a medical degree."

"_Bien sûr, je suis un médecin_," Rodin chirped, confirming his medical status. He continued to work on Stepanko's arm.

Suddenly it all clicked in Artie's brain and he remembered. "Your Majesty! You're injured! I… the assassin… I failed…" He tried to sit up, but found that Jim's hand upon his shoulder wouldn't let him rise.

"Easy, Artie. Everything's fine. It was the assassin who failed. He's under arrest now, and Captain Andreshko is hauling him off to the Old Palace to await trial. Oh, and thanks, by the way, for insuring that guy won't be mistaken for me again any time in the near future."

Confusion in his eyes, Artie blinked up at Jim. "Huh?"

Jim grinned and patted Artie's good arm. "You broke his nose! With any luck, it'll heal all mashed and crooked, and he'll no longer be a dead ringer for a certain Secret Service agent whom we all know and love."

"Oh. Yeah. Ri-right. Right, Jim. You're, uh, you're welcome. Um. Who's that?" He pointed at the somewhat disheveled man sitting uncomfortably in the corner.

"That is someone we met in the mine shafts under the Pterovnian West Coast Consulate, Artie. Remember Niko, the priest's son?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, him! Uh, hi, Niko. Fancy meeting you here."

"Niko has something to tell you, Your Majesty," Jim added, and for the next half hour or so, the miner glumly spun out his story of Ichko and his unauthorized assassin. Captain Andreshko arrived about halfway through the tale and was immediately dispatched to go collect all the prisoners in the make-shift cell.

At the end, as Niko stood shamefacedly before his king twisting his hands together in nervous anticipation of being placed under arrest as well, Dr Rodin sniffed in disgust and remarked, "And to all that you add the crime of spiriting away the king's bride."

The miner started, his eyes going round. "_That _is why the wedding was postponed? I was told that it was because the baroness was deathly ill! But she is missing, kidnapped?" Drawing himself up to his full height, Niko addressed the king, "Your Majesty, I and my men, we had nothing to do with this, believe me. But if there is anything — anything! — we can do now to help to find her, to restore her to your side, you have only to ask!"

"Yes, yes, yes," said the king and waved a hand in dismissal. "Thank you; you may go."

"I may… what?"

The king met his startled subject's eyes. "You may go home. You, and all of your men who fought to prevent that British fellow — Mr X, was it? — from carrying out his plot. Praise God it did not succeed! I must also," Stepanko murmured half to himself, "be sure to write a stern letter to His Majesty King Ludwig Hapnick of Carpania to warn him of the adventuresomeness of that annoying Baron Von Stuppe, and once I've done _that_, I really ought to… Ah…" He frowned. "Excuse me, is something wrong, Mr Gordon?"

Artie was choking, tears in his eyes from only partly suppressed laughter. "Wrong? Oh no no, Your Majesty. No, nothing, er, _wrong_ exactly…"

"I... see…" Again the king frowned toward the injured man, but then he drew his attention away to his other visitors. "Well... Again, thank you very much, Niko. Good day. And Dr Rodin, if you are finished, I should like to speak with our American friends. Alone, that is."

Niko all but fled. For his part, Rodin paused, polished his glasses once more, then packed up his little black bag and headed for the door before turning back with his hand upon the knob. "Is it wise, do you think, Your Majesty, to permit revolutionaries such as Niko _et ses amis _to run loose in Pterovnia?"

"But what else am I to do, Dr Rodin? Shall I lock up every man I hear of who has a grievance, or thinks he has a better way of running the country? We should soon run out of prison cells! Besides, I am not so old that I have forgotten what it is to be an idealistic young fool. Let him be, let him be. When he and his friends saw the true danger to the throne, they fought to stop the plot, did they not? That is good enough for me."

"_Je vois _— I see," said Rodin, and he left the study as well. At the king's nod the guards too filed out and could shortly be heard stamping about in the corridor, taking up positions beyond the door.

With a sigh, Stepanko locked the door behind them all, then returned to his desk and took up an envelope. "This, my friends, is the reason I had asked the two of you to come see me before all this… commotion took place." He passed the envelope to Jim.

Jim examined it, noting the same residue of sealing wax on the back as before. "Where did you find this one?" he asked as he handed it over to Artie.

"Here, upon my desk once more."

Artie pulled out the letter itself and glanced through it. "Ah. And now we are to be ordered to give up the investigation into Mireje's disappearance completely. No signature, and strangely enough, written in English." He flipped the paper over and peered at it at an angle.

"What are you doing?" asked the king.

"Looking for the watermark. Curious thing, but it seems to be the royal crest. Don't you think so, Jim?"

"And the instructions in it are the exact ones you anticipated would be given to us, Your Majesty," said Jim. "Care to explain how you could predict so accurately so far in advance what the kidnappers' new demands would be?"

"Ah. Well, I… That is, I, ah…"

Jim tossed the letter back to Artie. "You know something that we don't, Your Majesty. Admit it. You know more than you're telling."

"Oh, well, I…" Stepanko eyed the Americans, then lifted his head regally. "Very well then. Yes, I do know more than I'm telling — or at the very least, I suspect more than I have let on."

"You know where Mireje is," Jim stated.

"And who has her," Artie added.

The king shrugged. "Well, in a manner of speaking…"

"Where is she then?" said Jim.

"And how do you know?" Artie chimed in.

"Where she is… In truth, I have only a general suspicion as to her current location. In fact, _all _that I have are suspicions, not facts. But the more I dwell on them, the more certain I become that I know what became of Mireje — and that she is not coming back."

"Oh?"

"Care to elaborate?"

Again the king shrugged. "Gentlemen, it may well be a long story."

Artie gestured at his recumbent posture upon the divan. "I don't know about Jim, but _I'm _not going anywhere any time soon."

"Very well then." For a moment the king looked off at nothing, gathering his thoughts. Then, "Well, you know of course the tale of how Mireje and I met at the West Coast Consulate, and of the love philter her mother slipped into my wine to cause me to fall instantly in love with Mireje."

"Yes, we know," said Jim.

"We lived it with you!" put in Artie.

"Yes, and brought about my deliverance from the philter's spell, for which you have my eternal gratitude. If I am to love a woman, I want it to be by my own choice, not someone else's machinations. Having said that, however…" He lapsed into brooding for a few seconds.

"Machinations, Your Majesty?" Jim prompted at last.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. _Teshnante djozí_ — I beg your pardons, my friends. I was only considering whether I had not in fact been the manufacturer of my own machinations! You see, after the defeat of Mireje's mother and her cabal that had brought about the death of my beloved father, I returned home to Pterovnia, as you know, bringing Mireje and her brother Dreshko with me. It was a long journey, first back to Washington City by rail, and afterwards the ocean voyage to Hamburg in Germany, then more travel by rail and by carriage until we arrived back here in our homeland. We were three young people bound together by a common grief, not only for the loss of our nation's monarch by wicked hands, but the loss also of my cousins' father, killed along with my royal father in that despicable assassination plot. We drew close together — _very _close together, we three — over the course of that voyage home. At the end… perhaps I was foolish, or perhaps I had stars in my eyes, but at the end I proposed to Mireje, and she accepted. We were very happy, or at least I was."

He lapsed again into silence, until Jim prodded him with, "You were happy."

Stepanko gave a wry smile. "Mr Gordon, you may know something of the customs of my people. The period of mourning for a father is one full year, and for a king also a full year. As I had lost both sovereign _and _father, I was expected to observe the mourning period for two full years. And during such a time, no celebrations of joy are permitted."

"Including a wedding," said Artie.

"Yes. And so we delayed the nuptials until the two years were fulfilled. At that time, also according to our customs, I asked Mireje to set the date. And she chose…"

"Today?"

"Yes, Mr West. I was surprised that she would add yet another full year to an already lengthy betrothal, but it is a Pterovnian bride's prerogative to select the date of her wedding. And so another year passed, and in the meantime…" He paused, a frown creasing his face.

"In the meantime, she… changed?" Artie guessed.

"For the worse, yes. The drinking, the lack of punctuality. Rudeness. Behavior not suitable for a queen. I… I put up with it, thinking that once we were married, she would settle down; the foolish indecorum would be behind us. I… suffered her misconduct, waiting for the gentle and innocent Mireje I had fallen in love with to return."

"But instead, the morning of the wedding the girl had disappeared completely," said Jim.

"I believe I'm beginning to see where this is heading," Artie added.

"Perhaps you do," said Stepanko. "After the dreadful discovery this morning, I came down here to my study to think. To brood. And yes, to drink." He waved at the liquor cabinet against one wall. "And as I brooded, this thought came to me: why would a young woman eager to marry the man of her dreams delay her wedding for a full year? Why would she choose to drink herself into a stupor daily? Why act like a foolish, giddy sot, embarrassing herself in front of, well, everyone? Why would she do that, unless…"

"Unless she wasn't eager to get married after all," mused Jim.

"Mm," the king responded. "And unless I am, in fact, _not _the man of her dreams!"

The two Americans exchanged a glance. "You mean… Lieutenant Jenko?"

The king nodded. "The man who instantly volunteered to rush off to her rescue. The man who took such a touching leave of his own fiancée to go bring back mine! The man who…" Abruptly he slammed the flat of his hand down upon his desk. "The man whom _I myself _assigned to Mireje to be her bodyguard the day after we became engaged!"

Steeling himself to quell the impulse to make any remarks whatsoever about how diligently Jenko might be guarding Mireje's body, Artie said gently, "There, ah, wasn't anything between the two of them before you made that assignment, was there, Your Majesty?"

"No, of course not. She had been in America. The two of them did not even meet until about an hour _after _I made the assignment. He was simply one of the guardsmen, and I chose him completely at random." He reached over and massaged at the wound on his arm. "But I put Mireje fully into his care. He was to escort her everywhere, to sleep in the outer room of her suite, to be at her beck and call at every moment. He saw her far more often than I did, and I see now how foolish I was not to anticipate that a far more… profound affinity might come into being between them."

"So you think that Mireje disappeared on the eve of her wedding of her own free will," said Jim.

"Having arranged things with Jenko for them to meet, oh, who knows where, and then leave Pterovnia behind them entirely?" added Artie.

The king sighed and bowed his head. "Precisely!"

Again the agents glanced at each other. "Well, it sounds plausible," said Jim.

"But if that's the case, why did you forge two letters from the nonexistent kidnappers?" asked Artie. "Why pretend they were ordering everyone to silence, and ordering us to drop the investigation?"

The king slapped the desk again and surged to his feet. "Because it is all my fault!" he exclaimed. "_I _put them together — yes, _threw _them together! I went on my merry way, never realizing what I had done, never paying enough attention to Mireje to fathom that her behavior had changed because her heart had changed! That she loved Jenko and not me. I didn't think! And worse, I did not inspire in Mireje the confidence to come to me and tell me the truth. Instead she had to resort to… yes, to machinations, trying to drive me away, trying to disgust me to the point that I would set her free. But I didn't! And so she finally took the only path left open to her: she faked her own kidnapping and ran off with Jenko!"

He raked a hand through his hair, then sighed and dropped into his seat again. "I… I hope… I hope they will be happy together. I wish no repercussions upon them. _I _am the one at fault, not they. That is why the letters: I wish only to… to put this whole mess behind me with no shame redounding to either her name or his. Do you…" He cast a worried look their way. "Do you understand? Do I even make sense?"

Slowly the two agents nodded. "Yes. Yes, we understand, Your Majesty," said Jim, speaking for them both.

The king's face broke out into a watery smile. "I have been a fool, my friends, a very great fool. But I hope to learn from this fiasco and be a better man, and a better and wiser king as well, in the future. Ah!"

A knock had just sounded at the door. "Mr West, would you answer that, please?"

Jim gave Artie another pat on the shoulder, then got up and crossed to the door to find Captain Andreshko had returned. He entered and bowed to his sovereign. "The members of the plot upon your life have all been arrested and incarcerated awaiting trial, Your Majesty," he reported.

"Good, good, excellent, Dreshko. Thank you. You are dismissed." Stepanko picked up a paper from his desk and began perusing it.

Andreshko did not budge though. "Ah…"

The king looked up from his paper. " 'Ah,' Captain?"

"I, ah, also took it upon myself to send a man to the new hospital to requisition one of their wheeled beds for Mr Gordon's use." The young fellow tugged at his collar, then added, "Your Majesty would prefer, I presume, that Mr Gordon be moved to some room other than Your Majesty's study while he recuperates from his wound?"

Stepanko blinked, then broke out in a grin. "Excellent idea, Dreshko! I should have thought of it for myself. Yes, bring the bed here, and then we shall move him to… Well, it should be one of the rooms down here on the main floor, shouldn't it, so that he doesn't have to be taken up or down the stairs."

And shortly it was done. A ground floor parlor was refurbished for the Americans and Artie in his rolling bed was installed within it. As word spread of the great heroics accomplished that day by the two Americans in saving the king's life — and especially of the grievous wound suffered by one of the pair — many visitors came by to thank them, or weep over them, or pray for them, or sit and chatter endlessly at them.

At length Jim herded the last of the visitors out of the room, and was just about to lock the door for good measure when another knock sounded. Jim answered it with, "Mr Gordon is very tired and needs to res… Oh, hello, Andreshko."

The young officer stepped inside and smiled nervously, his fingers plucking at the shako in his hands. "His Majesty asked me to look in on you and see how you are faring. All is well?"

"Sort of," yawned Artie.

"It would better if we didn't have the constant stream of well-wishers tromping through the room," added Jim.

"Yeah, could you maybe tell everyone we've moved again and left no forwarding address?"

Andreshko's smile became a bit more genuine. "I will see what I can do," he said and turned to go.

"Before you do that though," Artie added, "I'd like the answer to just one question."

"Yes, Mr Gordon?"

Looking the young fellow dead in the eyes, Artie asked, "Where's Mireje?"

Andreshko stared at him, mouth agape. "How…" he whispered at last. "How did you know?"

"The _king _knows," said Jim, folding his arms and leaning against a table. "He worked it out on his own that the kidnapping was only a ruse."

"Except that so far, he assumes Mireje and Jenko cooked up the scheme all on their own," said Artie. "But they didn't, did they? They had help."

"And you… you think _I _helped?"

Artie chuckled. "I _know _you did! You _had _to be in on it, kiddo!"

"Because she is my sister?"

"No, because as I was running into the palace to chase the fake Jim all over creation, I overheard you tell Mireje's bridesmaids that a prayer vigil for her safe return wouldn't be, and I quote, 'nec…' " He fixed the young officer with a gimlet stare. "The rest of that word was going to be 'necessary,' wasn't it?"

Andreshko dropped his head and nodded. "_Dasda_."

"But you never finished saying that word, because Anushche interrupted you."

"Pinched me too."

"Interrupted you," said Jim. "Meaning that she's in on this as well."

"_Dasda_."

"Anyone else?" asked Jim.

"Mm," Artie interjected, "my money's on Cat being right in the thick of things too."

Again Dreshko gaped at him. "How can you know that?"

"Because I said something to her about this being a time of pretense — referring to the fake Jim, of course — and she overreacted, throwing a hand over her mouth and demanding to know what I meant. Sign of a guilty conscience, or at least a very worried one."

Andreshko shook his head, nearly in tears. "You have uncovered _everything!" _he exclaimed.

"Not quite everything," said Jim sternly. "We still don't know why all of you did such a thing."

"Yeah," said Artie. "So you go this minute, young man, and gather up all your fellow plot-hatchers and bring 'em right in here. We want to hear the whole sordid story!"

…

Anje perched on the edge of the sofa in the agents' new suite, folded her hands in her lap, and said, "It's really not that sordid, not at all."

"Faking the kidnapping of the king's fiancée isn't sordid?"

She turned a steady look towards Jim. "Say rather, preventing her death and the death of a fine young soldier!"

"Oh!" said Artie. He lay back against his pillow and thumped at his nose. "Well, I never thought of it in _those _terms!"

"You're saying that the fact that Mireje and Jenko were in love could have resulted in their deaths," Jim stated.

"For treason, yes. As long as she was not yet married to the king, it was not treason. But to, er… Ah…"

"Cheat on a king?" Artie supplied.

"Well, to… _love _another man while married to a king. Yes, in most nations with a monarchy, such a… predicament is in fact considered treason. And the penalty for treason is a death sentence."

Jim looked at the three of them — Anje, Andreshko, and Catalina — and said, "And you all recognized that Mireje and Jenko had fallen for each other."

"Oh, yes," said the young man. "I mean, she's my sister. I saw the changes in her."

"As did I," added Catalina. "I had come to know _la baronesa _very well during my time as her governess. She was not the happy carefree girl she had been, and became less happy and less carefree the longer the engagement went on."

"I suppose I was the last of us to catch on," Anushche admitted. "I came to know Mireje once she and Dreshko returned here to Pterovnia, and we became fast friends. At first she would chatter on endlessly about her excitement to be getting married once the mourning period was past. But later the chatter was more… forced. Less sincere. And still later, Mireje essentially stopped talking to me of her hopes and dreams at all." She leaned forwards. "And so did Jenko! He and I had become engaged before the…" She closed her eyes. "Before His Majesty King Zerildko was… killed. We too were awaiting the end of the mourning for the king so that we could be married. Only… when I spoke to him to set the date, Jenko… asked for more time."

"And from that you guessed that he'd fallen for Mireje instead?"

She smiled. "Not exactly. From that I became _nosy_, and so I recruited a couple of… spies, let us say." She reached out both hands and gripped the hands of Catalina and Dreshko. "Between the three of us, we learned everything."

"So you counseled Mireje to put on that drunk act to try to drive the king away?"

"Oh no!" said Dreshko. "That was her own idea."

Catalina shook her head. "I told her that it would not work. I told her to go to the king and speak all her heart to him, that a man of honor would not force her to go through with the marriage when she was in love with another, but she… ah…"

"She was afraid that Stepanko might prove to be _other _than a man of honor, is that it, Cat?" asked Artie.

Mutely she nodded.

"She came to feel that she could not refuse the king, no matter what the consequences," said Anje. "She felt trapped, trapped by her own pledge made before she knew what it was to truly love. She could not get out of the marriage, and she could not give up Jenko."

"So where are they now?" asked Jim.

"Now?" Dreshko pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. "With any luck, they have crossed the border into Ruritania and are well on their way to the port of Hamburg."

"Where they have tickets to board a ship for America," added Anje. "There in the land of the free, they hope to make a life for themselves where they can never be accused of treason simply for loving each other!"

Jim and Artie exchanged a glance, then Jim pointed at Dreshko. "So your motivation in all this was…"

"To keep my sister from losing her life."

"And yours was similar, Cat?" said Artie.

"_Sí_. I did not wish _la baronesa _to be unfairly condemned."

"But you, Anushche. You had two horses in this race," said Artie.

"Right," said Jim. "You were looking out for Jenko as well."

"Amazingly enough," Artie added.

She looked over at him, a touch of puzzlement in her face. " 'Amazingly enough'? What do you mean?"

"Why, your fiancé went and dumped you for another woman, and yet you did all you could to protect him!"

Her puzzlement increased. "Well, yes, of course. Why shouldn't I?"

The agents exchanged another glance, and Artie shook his head, chuckling. "Oh, Anushche, Anushche! _Droshinje muje, _you are almost too sweet and altruistic to be real! Don't you realize that most women would have thrown the creep to the lions?"

With a sweet smile on her face but steel in her eyes, Anje rose to her feet. "But I am not most women, am I, gentlemen?" She nodded to her coconspirators, who stood up as well. "Good evening, James. And Artemus, rest well and be healed!" She gave each man a kiss on the cheek and turned to go.

"One more question though, if I may," said Artie.

"Yes?"

"The letter that was thrown to Capt Koloshko: Why?"

"Because to many people, he would be an obvious suspect in Mireje's supposed kidnapping," Anje explained. "We only asked him to keep quiet a few days until they would have time to be well away."

"Yes, time enough for them to board the ship," Andreshko added.

"And… there is one more thing," said Anje.

"What's that?"

She frowned as if choosing how to phrase it. "It… it was not simply to spare two good young people the death penalty for falling in love with each other. There was another person I was concerned for: Stepanko himself. If the king had learned of their love and condemned them for it, I have no doubt that he would in time have come to regret it. He would, like Lady Macbeth in the play, have found that not even an ocean of water would wash the blood from his hands. And so I wished also to spare my dear cousin Panko from the consequences of his own actions."

"You can't know that he would have sentenced them to death. After all, he commuted Capt Koloshko's death penalty."

"That is true, I cannot know what he would have done. I could only consider what he _might _do, and act accordingly." She headed for the door again, then half-turned to add, "As for Capt Koloshko, there is this thought: a king may well extend mercy for a friend who has broken his trust, but for a woman who has broken his heart — for her, who knows if he will even _think _of mercy?"

She left and her two friends with her, and for several minutes afterwards Jim and Artie just mulled things over.

"So…" said Artie at last. "What do we tell the king?"

"Who says we tell him anything?"

"Good point, Jim. I'll go with that." He leaned back into his pillows and closed his eyes.

A moment later there came yet another knock on the door. Artie flinched. "Oh no, not more visitors! Tell 'em to go away, Jim! This zoo is closed for the night!"

"Exactly what I was thinking!" Jim replied and went to the door to send the latest set of gawkers away.

Only to find that at the door was "Your Majesty!"

Artie started and tried to look a bit more alert. "Oh, good evening, Your Majesty," he said. "We weren't expecting more guests."

"To what do we owe this honor?" Jim added.

Grinning, King Stepanko waved his hands in delight. "I just had the most wonderful idea, my friends! We have everything ready for a wedding — the flowers, the catering, the priest, the guests — and it dawned on me that this opportunity should not be wasted!"

"Ah… _everything_, Your Majesty?" said Jim.

"Are you perhaps forgetting that you have everything ready except for the bride?" added Artie.

"Oh, but that is the beautiful part! I know precisely what to do about the lack of a bride!"

The agents stared at each other for a second. "You're, ah… not thinking of using a proxy to marry Mireje anyway, are you, sir?" Artie ventured.

"Proxy!" Stepanko laughed. "Oh, no no no, my friends! I have no intention of attempting to bind Mireje into a marriage from which she has run away! No no, no proxies involved. My bride has departed, so I merely need a new one in her place. Do you see?"

Artie nearly choked. "Oh, merely!" he exclaimed, while Jim asked more directly, "And just whom do you have in mind for your replacement bride, Your Majesty?"

"Why, isn't it obvious?" He smiled at the two Americans, looking back and forth between them. "Upon whom else, my friends, would I choose to bestow such an honor but on my dear cousin Anje? Just think! She is smart, and kind, and pretty — and the whole nation loves her. In fact, I have even heard it rumored that some think she would make a better monarch than I do. Silly idea, of course, but that's how rumors are, yes? And besides, she too has found herself suddenly jilted. So she and I are in the same, er — what is it you Americans say? the same barge?" He grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Well, good night, my friends. I just _had _to tell someone right away! And now if you'll excuse me, I will go at once to find Anje and propose to her, and then we can be married first thing tomorrow morning!" He nodded merrily to his guests and rushed away.

Jim shook his head as he closed the door and locked it. "So much for Stepanko's resolve to be a wiser man in the future."

"So much also for the Pterovnian custom of the bride being the one who picks the wedding date!"

"Well, you know the old saying: Marry in haste and repent at leisure."

"Mm. I'm actually thinking of another saying, Jim. Maybe not as old and time-honored, but every bit as fitting."

"And what's that, Artie?"

Dropping his chin to his chest and his vocal range into a husky growl, Artie did his best imitation of their beloved president as he rumbled out, "Didn't I always tell you gentlemen that the king of Pterovnia is a moon-struck young idiot? And there the boy's just gone and proved it all over again!"

Jim sighed. "And how." He crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured them each a glass, then brought both over and handed one to Artie. "_Salud_," he said, lifting the glass and nodding to his partner.

Artie took a sip, then frowned thoughtfully at the glass. "Hey, Jim. I just had a thought."

"Yeah, Artie?"

"Maybe we oughta get hold of whatever the king's been drinking tonight…"

Jim cocked an eyebrow. "And do what with it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe analyze it and see if someone's been slipping the king another one of those obnoxious love philters, that's all. _Salud!"_

_(But wait, there's more! A bonus scene is yet to come!)_


	19. Bonus scene

_**Bonus scene, several weeks later on the train heading home:**_

Jim and Artie settled into their seats, glad to be at last starting out on the long trip back to America, glad especially that Artie's gunshot wound had healed up nicely with only minor scarring. As the pair gazed out the window watching Pterovnia slipping away behind them, they thought over their recent adventures here in the Old World. And Jim remembered something.

"By the way, Artie, you never did explain why you nearly had a conniption fit over the name of that Carpanian baron."

"Um… You, uh, you mean Baron Von, er, Stuppe?"

"Yes, that's the one. What's so funny about him?"

"We-ell… You wouldn't, uh, happen to know any Yiddish, would you, Jim?"

"Not a whole lot, no. Why?"

"Because the name, er, Stuppe — well, it's a Yiddish word."

"All right. What's it mean?"

His face gradually turning bright red, Artie finally said, "Something I'd, uh, rather not explain. Especially since there happen to be ladies present."

Jim looked around. "Well, present, yes. But the only ladies around are all the way over there at the far end of the car. They won't overhear us."

"Sorry, Jim. I refuse to talk about this with ladies present, and that's that."

A few minutes later Jim looked around again. "Well, how about that, Artie! All the ladies have left the car for now. So what does Stuppe mean? Sounds like it might mean 'stupid.' "

Artie squirmed in his seat, then turned to stare at the area the ladies had previously occupied, willing them to come back and rescue him.

"Come on, Artie. I told you before, even if they were here, the ladies' seats are too far away for them to overhear us. So just go ahead and get it over with. Tell me what the word means!"

Artie winced royally. "Seriously, Jim, as long as there are ladies in existence on planet Earth, I don't wanna explain what that word means!"

"O… k…" said Jim slowly. "A Yiddish word, you say? Fine, the next time we run into a rabbi, I'll just ask _him _to explain it." He picked up a newspaper and started to peruse the front page.

Instantly Artie clutched Jim's arm and stared at him in horror. "A rabbi! Great jumping balls of St Elmo's fire, Jim, don't you _dare _go ask a rabbi about the Yiddish word for sex!"

**FIN**

_Author's note: Thanks go to Nydiva for supplying me with the real meaning of Stuppe (like Jim, I thought it meant 'stupid') and thus inspiring the final joke here._


End file.
